


Her Dreams Became Nightmares

by MissieMoose



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Boffins, Adventure, Bilbo's a worrywort of a dad and rightly so, Book verse and movie verse, Canonical Character Death, Family Feels, Fili gets more 'screen' time than Kili, Friendship, Gen, Heartbreak, Humor, Lost Love, Original Character(s), Overprotective Bilbo, Slow Burn, Thorin is a Softie, Took blood is a pain in the ass, not all adventures are fun adventures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 166,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissieMoose/pseuds/MissieMoose
Summary: Bilbo had raised his daughter to be a proper, respectable Baggins: Polite, friendly, a good cook...But, like her father, she had Took blood running through her veins that left her quietly wishing for some sort of excitement to happen in her life. When Thorin and his Company arrive at Bag End, she gets her wish and signs a contract, becoming the fifteenth member of the Company. But she soon learns that not all adventures are fun and games like the fairytales Bilbo read her as a child--some are dangerous, frightening, and heartbreaking.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Bofur, Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 75
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers and welcome to the beginning of part one of what will become a two part story! For those of you who are already following me, a little explanation might be needed since, well...Baylee's also in Azying/Finding Their Place. This story is essentially what would have happened if I had kept Baylee in her original incarnation, which was Baylee Baggins, daughter of Bilbo Baggins. I'm sorry if it makes reading this and Azying a bit confusing, so I don't blame you if you choose to only read one of them. But, if you do choose to read this one, I hope you enjoy it! It's proving to be quite fun to write~

As he stepped out of his bedroom, Bilbo was greeted by the scents of cooking bacon and warm bread. He breathed in deeply, the smells making his stomach growl with hunger and a smile come to his lips. Making sure the belt of his dressing gown was properly tied into place, he started down the hall, the smells getting stronger with every step.

Upon entering the kitchen, he was greeted by the sight of a hobbit lass at the stove, using a spatula to flip over some pieces of bacon. She glanced over at him and gave him a quick smile before looking back down at the frying pan.

“Morning, da’,” she chirped. “You slept right through breakfast, so I made extra for second breakfast.” Grabbing a cloth, she went to fetch the kettle from the hearth before pouring the water into a teapot.

He frowned slightly; no wonder his stomach felt emptier than usual. “Is that so? Explains why my stomach is so cranky this morning…Do you need help with anything, dear?”

She glanced up from filling the teapot. “I haven’t picked out a jam for the crumpets yet, and I need about six eggs. Could you fetch those for me, please?”

“Do you have a flavor preference?” He walked out of the kitchen and into the hall, heading towards the pantry.

“Surprise me!” Turning back to the bacon, she scooped it up with the spatula and, after letting the fat drain for a few seconds, set the pieces onto a plate. She blew a lock of her ash-brown hair from her face and slid the frying pan off the heat. Turning around, she looked at the spread of food she had laid out for her and Bilbo. it would be more than enough for just the two of them, and the meal, thanks to her father waking up late, would be a bit of heavier than usual.

‘Crumpets, fried potatoes, bacon, eggs, tea…’ she thought. ‘I feel like I’m missing something, though—Oh, that’s right!’ Her eyes widening, she hurried over to the oven and, standing off to the side, she opened the iron door and let the heat vent out for a few seconds. She then grabbed a wooden peel and retrieved a golden-brown loaf of bread from the depth of the oven.

“I’m afraid the jam surprise isn’t a very good one,” Bilbo said upon reentering the kitchen. He watched as she lifted the bread from the oven, moving to set it on a cutting board to cool. “We’re all out—Ooh, is that a loaf of cranberry-orange bread I see?” He grinned, walking over and taking a whiff of the bread.

“It’s not for us, I’m afraid,” she told him, using the peel to close the oven door. As it shut, the latch fell into the place and she returned the peel to its hook on the wall.

“Oh? Then who’s it for?” He set the eggs down in a bowl near the stove before moving out of her way. His brow rose slightly as he saw a bit of color come to her cheeks.

“Halfast Pott,” she answered. “It’s a thank-you for the cherrywood-smoked ham he saved us.”

“Mhm,” he chuckled, his brow rising in amusement. He moved to sit down at the kitchen table, grabbing a napkin and unfolding it with a flick of his wrist. “ _Just_ for the ham, I’m sure.”

Her lips pursed in a small pout and her cheeks grew a bit darker. “Yes, _just_ for the ham.” Returning the frying pan to the heat, she cracked three eggs into it. She tossed the shells into a bucket on the floor before adding a bit of salt and pepper to the eggs.

“Most definitely _not_ because you fancy him or anything.” He grinned, watching his daughter stiffened slightly. As she glanced at him from over her shoulder, he wore an innocent smile and poured himself some tea. “Oh, come on, Baylee—half the Shire knows the two of you fancy one another. And the other half knows at least one of you fancies the other.”

“I highly doubt both of those,” she retorted. Sighing, she carefully flipped the eggs over before grabbing an empty plate. “For one, I don’t even know a quarter of the Shire, let alone _half_.” She used her wrist to wipe a bit of sweat from her brow; having both the oven and the stove heated up made the kitchen warmer than usual. “What flavor of jam did you say you brought?”

“I didn’t. I was about to tell you that we’re out of jam, actually, but you brought that bread out of the oven and I got distracted.” He added a bit of honey to his tea before taking a sip. “One of us will have to pick some up when we visit the market.”

Using the spatula to lift the eggs out of the pan, she plated the eggs before turning around and placing the plate in front of her father. “I can do it. I’ll have to go there later, anyway.” Facing the stove once more, she cracked the rest of the eggs into the pan before scrambling them together with a bit of salt and pepper. “Do you have any preference on flavors?”

“Hmm…Not at the moment, no. Though, don’t forget to take the empty jam jars with you. You forgot to do that last time and I didn’t hear the end of it from Mrs. Brownlock.”

Her cheeks flushed again. “It was an honest mistake—and it’s not like I wouldn’t have remembered without her chiding.” She shook her head, stirring the eggs around. “But yes, da’, I’ll remember.”

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled. As badly as he wanted to start eating, he wanted to wait for her to finish cooking first. “Oh, speaking of the market…when’s your next shift at the Green Dragon?”

“Tomorrow, actually. I’ll be working from eleven until six.”

Bilbo frowned. “That’s most of the day.”

“Yes, it is, but tomorrow is also the wake for Old Pearl Bracegirdle.” She plated the scrambled eggs and, grabbing the plate of bacon, turned to finally join her father at the table. “The Bracegirdles have rented the common room for the day, so we’re expecting plenty of them and even more plentiful amounts of Bolgers.” She lightly shook her head.

“Is that so? I would have expected them to hold the wake elsewhere.” He served himself some bacon and fried potatoes, as well as two crumpets. “But I suppose it’s still a bit too early in the season to hold such an event out at the party tree, now isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Priscilla says the ground’s still a bit too soft in the field to hold any sort of event, unless it’s a hog chase you’re wanting.” She poured herself some tea and sighed. “And I don’t think any of us want another one of _those_ on our hands.”

He, too, nodded. “Especially if it’s one of the Goodbody’s hogs. Monstrously huge creatures, those hogs of theirs…but certainly some of the most delicious meat you can get.”

“Especially when it’s been cherrywood-smoked.”

“By a handsome young butcher, no less.” He grinned as Baylee’s cheeks turned bright red.

“ _Da’_ ,” she pouted.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop teasing you,” he chuckled, looking down at his plate. He cut open the yolk of one of his eggs, using a bit of crumpet to soak it up. Glancing at his daughter, his brow rose ever so slightly. “But if he ever asks you if you’d like to court him—”

Having been in the middle of taking a drink of tea, Baylee spluttered slightly in surprise. Luckily, she was still wearing her apron, so none of it got on her dress. “Da’!”

“—Then you have my blessing to do such,” he finished. “But that’s only _if_ he speaks up. The two of you get so shy around one another, it’s a surprise you’ve even spoken at all.”

Her cheeks burning, she started to spread some butter on a crumpet. “We’ve spoken quite often,” she mumbled. Once the crumpet was buttered, she scooped some egg onto it and took a bite of it.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He gave her a teasing smile. “ _Now_ , for your sake, I’ll stop teasing you. Though I was serious—about you having my blessing, I mean.” He added some extra pepper to his eggs and potatoes before taking a bite and chewing it. “Do you think you’ll be going by the tobacco shop on your way through town?”

“More than likely,” she sighed, scooping more eggs onto her crumpet. “I’m nearly out. Would you like me to pick you up some?”

“Yes, please. Anything works—though, no Old Toby.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Why’s that? Old Toby’s your favorite.”

“Well, spring is beginning to blossom and I think a lighter pipe weed would be best. Maybe some Longbottom Leaf.”

At that, Baylee’s nose scrunched up. “Blegh, Longbottom Leaf,” she muttered.

His brow rose. “You don’t like Longbottom Leaf?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. It’s far too strong…and I don’t like how it leaves my head feeling fuzzy after a few puffs. I prefer the fruitier ones, like Southern Star.”

Bilbo rested his elbow on the table for a moment as he stared at her, his mouth slightly open. “You know, you are the _first_ person who’s ever told me they disliked Longbottom Leaf.”

“Am I really?” she asked, a mixture of confusion and amusement in her voice.

“Yes!” Removing his elbow from the table once more, he shook his head. “My own daughter, disliking one of the best pipe weeds in the Shire…What _is_ this world coming to?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Da’, it’s not the end of the world if I don’t like _one_ strain out of dozens. Like I said, I prefer the fruitier ones.”

“My own flesh and blood, saying it makes her head fuzzy after a few measly puffs!” he continued, his tone getting more theatrical. Shaking his head, he let out a ‘disappointed’ sigh. “What am I to do with you?” He glanced up in time to be hit in the face by a dishcloth.

~~

“There you go, Miss Baggins—one pouch of Longbottom Leaf and one of Southern Star.” An older hobbit held out the two tobacco pouches for her, a smile on his wrinkled face. “How is your father doing, by the way? Is he still fretting about his garden thanks to that late frost we had a few weeks ago?”

Taking the pouches, she tucked them away in her basket. “Oh, not anymore, thankfully. Before winter, he and Hamfast Gamgee made sure to prep the garden real well for the cold season. I guess he forgot, though, and that’s why he worked himself up into a bit of a tizzy.” She chuckled, tucking some hair behind her ear. “But, other than that, he’s been quite well.”

“Good, good…I only ask because I haven’t seen him much lately.” He let out a quiet, hoarse laugh and lightly shook his head. “I suppose since you’ve come of age, he’s put all the shopping responsibilities on your shoulders now?”

“Oh, he _wishes_ ,” she laughed. “I’ve only done the shopping the last few times because I had morning shifts at the Green Dragon.”

The old hobbit nodded in understanding. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your errands, lass,” he said. “Tell your father I said hullo.”

“Will do. Have a good day, Mister Proudfoot.” She gave him a smile before turning to leave. ‘That’s a first,’ she thought as she passed through the door. ‘Normally, he talks my ear off for half an hour or more! Not that I’m complaining, of course. Though, his throat did sound a bit hoarse…maybe he’s recovering from something?’

Making her way through town, she took in a deep breath; the air was heavy with smells from the bakery down the way as well as whatever foods were being cooked in the Green Dragon. Her stomach growled slightly, but she silently scolded it.

‘I only just had second breakfast. I can last until elevensies or lunch!’ Lightly shaking her head, she sighed. ‘Anyway, I still need to get some jam from Mrs. Brownlock and then deliver this bread to Halfast…’ Her cheeks grew ever so slightly warm at the thought of the handsome young hobbit.

Four doors down from the tobacco shop was the small general store run by the Brownlock family. She paused outside the door for a moment, pretending to look around in her basket for something. In truth, however, she was bracing herself for one of two things: Either she was about to receive a stern scolding for forgetting to return the jam jars the last time she visited or she was about to get a stern reminding about how, now that she was thirty-three, she needed to start putting some serious thought into potential suitors so that she could give Bilbo a legitimate heir to Bag End.

‘Or, with luck, it’ll be Mister Brownlock running the store today. Yes. Let’s hope for that, shall we?’

Unconsciously, she held her breath as she finally pushed open the door, a bell ringing as she did so. She stepped into the shop and glanced around; it seemed that luck was on her side: Mister Brownlock was behind the counter, his pipe betwixt his teeth and a book in hand. He looked up as she walked in, using a bit of paper to mark his page.

“Ah, good morning, Miss Baggins!” he said, removing the pipe from his mouth. “How’ve you been, lass?”

“Good morning to you, too! I’ve been quite well, thank you,” she replied. She hoped her relief at finding him instead of his wife wasn’t too evident. “And yourself?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain.” His chair creaked loudly under his great girth as he stood up before he waddled over to the counter. “Merriweather’s off visiting relatives down in the South Farthing, so I’m running the shop for the week. Been nice and slow.” As Baylee set her basket on the counter, he couldn’t help but catch a whiff of the bread inside. “Is that a loaf of your cranberry-orange bread you’ve got there?”

Her brow rose and she chuckled. “It is,” she replied, beginning to pull out the empty jam jars, “though I’m afraid it’s not for sharing today. It’s a thank-you gift.”

“Shame—well, shame for me, at least. A blessing for whoever’s on the receiving end of this gift!” He lightly shook his head and chuckled. “By the looks of it, it’s jam you’ll be wanting today?”

“Yes, please. No preference on flavors.”

Taking the four empty jars, he carried them over to the back counter, where he set them alongside a dozen or so other empty jars. “No preference for flavors, eh? Means I can pawn the gross ones off on you. Like this pickle jam and this jar of beet jam!” he joked.

She laughed, playfully rolling her eyes; she knew well enough that no such jams existed. “If there was such a thing as beet jam, I’m sure da’ would be more than willing to try it out.” Looking around at the shelves, she saw many different products aside from canned goods. There were boxes of teas, small casks of wine, various sizes of baskets…The store had plenty of things that were useful for everyday chores or for eating. But what caught her attention was the rack of ribbons near the wall.

“Your father does have a peculiar fondness for trying new foods, that’s for certain.” With four various flavors of jam in hand, he returned to the counter only to find Baylee missing. Looking around the store, he finally saw her over at the ribbons. “Ah, I see you found the ribbons! We got those in just yesterday. The rest of the lasses in town haven’t discovered them yet.”

“I don’t know why—they’re so bright and colorful!” She smiled as she looked over a bright yellow one that had tiny sunflowers embroidered into it. Then, picking up a second one—this one sky blue in color—she could see that little daisies were embroidered on it. This second one she returned; it wasn’t quite her style. Instead, she plucked up a second sunflower ribbon and returned to the counter. “I’ll take these two in addition to the jams, please.”

Mister Brownlock nodded, a small chuckle leaving his mouth. “I had a feelin’ you’d go for the sunflower ones, lass,” he gently teased. “Being your favorite flower, though, you can’t be blamed. That’ll be seven copper for everything, lass.”

“I’m sure once Prim sees these, she and her sisters will be in here to buy up the rest,” she chuckled. Pulling out her coin purse, she fished the seven coins out, handing them to the older hobbit before starting to place the jars back into the basket. The ribbons she carefully tucked in the side of the basket, not wanting them to get stuck next to the tobacco pouches.

Especially the pouch of Longbottom Leaf.

“Oh, I’m sure those Lightfoot girls will—they really adore their ribbons,” he chuckled. “The flavors I gave you are strawberry, blackberry, mixed berry, and rhubarb, by the way,” he added. “I hope those’ll be fine.”

“They sound delicious, thank you,” she grinned, lifting her basket. “I hope you have a good rest of your day, Mister Brownlock!”

He gave her a small nod, turning back towards his chair. “You have a pleasant day, too, lass. Say hello to your father for me, will you?”

“I’ll do my best to remember.” The bell rang again as she opened the door and stepped outside. ‘Well, that was a pleasant surprise,’ she thought, closing the door behind her.

‘Now I just need to go to the butcher’s to drop off this bread…’ She felt her stomach do a small flip-flop in nervousness. ‘Oh, stop that…you’ve been to the butcher’s plenty of times in your life, Baylee Baggins. There’s no reason you should be getting so nervous this time around.’

But, as she walked through the market to get to the butcher’s, she was met by another surprise: Halfast himself, bargaining with one of many vegetable vendors over the price of some artichokes. She paused in her steps, her eyes widening in surprise. He was rather tall for a hobbit, being nearly four-foot-five, and his golden hair seemed to shine under the spring sunlight.

‘He mustn’t be working today, then,’ she thought, swallowing hard. Her hands unconsciously wrung the handle of her basket. It took a great deal of willpower for her to start walking towards him, but she was stopped after just a few paces as he looked over and saw her. She watched as a smile came to his lips and a bit of color came to his cheeks. ‘Well, I certainly wasn’t prepared for this.’ Swallowing hard a second time, she once more forced herself to walk towards him.

“Hu-hullo, Miss Baylee,” he said, his cheeks a bit more pink now. “How’re you today?”

“I’m f-fine,” she managed to say without much stuttering. “And-and yourself? I’m surprised you’re not at your shop.”

“T-today’s my day off,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dad’s running it today, so I’m left to do the shopping.”

She nodded in understanding. “I was just doing a bit of shopping myself,” she told him, “though, um…I-I am glad to have run into you. I have something for you.”

His eyes widened and his cheeks grew a bit darker. “Y-you do?” he squeaked. Realizing how silly he had sounded, he quickly cleared his throat and repeated, in a more normal voice, “I mean, you do?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied, unable to keep herself from giggling. Reaching into the basket, she pulled out the loaf of bread, which she had wrapped in a bit of checked cloth to protect it. “Here. Th-this is to thank you for saving that ham for me and da’.” Her cheeks grew warm as he took the bread from her. “We really appreciated it—we know cherrywood can be a bit hard to get this time of the year…”

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked, his brows rising somewhat. He lifted it up and sniffed it; his eyes widened and his grin grew bigger as the smell confirmed his suspicions. “W-well, if I had known saving you and your da’ a ham would get me some cranberry-orange bread, I’d’ve started saving them for you a lot sooner!” Rubbing the back of his neck, his grin turned a bit bashful once more. “Thanks a lot, Miss Baylee! I’m sure this is going to go real good with the dinner I’m making.”

Her cheeks grew even warmer and she shyly looked down at her basket. “I just hope it tastes as good as you’re expecting,” she chuckled. Her hands fidgeted with the handle of the basket slightly.

“Oh, I’m sure it will! Your breads always taste good, Miss Baylee.” He rubbed the back of his neck again and glanced around. His cheeks burned as he saw a couple of older hobbits watching the two of them, knowing smiles on their faces. Clearing his throat, he looked back at Baylee. “W-well, I suppose I should let you get back to your errands…”

She nodded slowly, lifting her head to look up at him once more. “Alright…Well, I hope the rest of your day passes pleasantly.”

“I hope yours does, too, Miss Baylee. And thank-you again for the bread!” He wore a large grin as he turned to head off further into the market.

Baylee let out a long, slow breath as she turned to go in the opposite direction. Her insides were all jittery, as if there were dozens of butterflies fluttering around inside of her. Pushing a stray lock of hair from her face, she started to make her way home.

Upon getting home, she found her father sitting in the kitchen, his cheek resting in his palm as he ate a seed cake. His eyes were also slightly wide as he stared at the hearth, seemingly oblivious to her presence. She frowned; he looked positively worried.

“Da’?”

Bilbo let out a startled cry and spun around, his eyes even wider now that he was cognizant. “Baylee! You know better than to sneak up on someone like that!” he scolded. He wagged his finger at her before grabbing a mug of ale.

Her frown grew. “I thought you would have heard me close the front door,” she said. She hadn’t been very subtle about it, after all. “Is everything alright? You look like you just dealt with the Sackville-Baggins for an hour and a half.” Setting her basket down on the table, she moved to sit across from him.

“No, no—I’m not sure if it was better or worse than them,” he sighed. Plucking up the seed cake, he took another bite.

“There’s something worse than them?” she half-joked. She started to empty the basket of its contents.

“There are, but like I said, I’m not sure if this was or wasn’t.” He let out a second, heavier sigh. “While you were gone, I was out, having a smoke as I usually do after second breakfast. Well, while I was smoking, a _wizard_ came up and started talking to me!”

She paused, looking at her father with a raised brow. “A wizard?” she repeated. Her eyes then widened slightly. “Do you mean that Gandalf you’ve told me about? The one who had the most amazing fireworks?”

“Yes, _him_ —only, he wanted _nothing_ to do with fireworks!” He shook his head. “Oh no, he was rambling on and on about—about _adventures_ and how he had been ‘good morninged’ by Belladonna Took’s son…”

Baylee’s head tilted a bit. “Adventures? Did he say what kind of adventures?”

Bilbo’s expression fell somewhat and he looked at his daughter. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye—the Took Twinkle, it was sometimes called, due to the Took clan’s penchant for getting into trouble. “No, he didn’t,” he told her, his voice a bit stern, “and even if he did, no daughter of mine is going to go off galivanting with wizards!” He sighed, leaning back in his seat slightly. “You are a Baggins and we Bagginses are good, respectable hobbits.”

She chuckled, her brow rising as she pulled the jams out and set them off to the side. “I’m only a quarter Baggins, da’,” she reminded him. She knew that Gandalf must have really startled him if he was being _this_ adamant about their respectability.

“Yes, well, you _are_ my daughter who was _raised_ among Bagginses and you _are_ named Baylee _Baggins_ — _not_ Baylee Took.” He gave her a very fatherly look. “Anyway, wizards are pesky folk. They get themselves into all sorts of trouble. And they _bring_ all sorts of trouble, too! No, no, it’s best you forget I even mentioned Gandalf and his arranging of adventures.” Shaking his head, he grabbed his ale and took a drink from it. “Enough of that…How was your trip to town?”

“Uneventful.” She pulled out his tobacco pouch and placed it in front of him. “Old Bolger and Mister Brownlock say hello. Mrs. Brownlock is off visiting relatives, so I didn’t get a scolding about the empty jars last time.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. Taking the pouch, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his vest while watching her pull the two ribbons from the basket. “I see you got yourself some ribbon for your hair.”

“Yes; apparently, the Brownlock’s _just_ got these in. I was the first one to spot them, so I got the cream of the crop.” She grinned cheekily, handing one over to her father so he could look at it.

“Ah, sunflowers. How very appropriate for my little ray of sunshine,” he said with a small chuckle. “These are very pretty and will be even prettier once they’re in your hair. Pretty enough that Halfast will get over his shyness and ask to court you!” A teasing smile came to his lips as he handed the ribbon back.

Taking the ribbon, she pouted at him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Three more ales, lass! And two beers!”

“Coming right up!” Ducking behind the bar, Baylee grabbed the five tankards, arranging them on the serving tray she held. “Which group are they for?” she asked. She went over to the barrels of beer stacked against the wall and started to fill them, being careful to keep them tilted in order to keep an overabundance of foam from forming.

“Ernest Bolger an’ his lads,” the innkeeper replied.

“They got here awfully late.” She blew a stray lock of hair from her face, though it was of little help; it was clinging to her sweat-covered brow. “The wake’s almost over, isn’t it?”

The innkeeper snorted. “Lass, this is a _wake_. It don’t end until no one’s left awake.” He shook his head and glanced over at her. “You’re keepin’ up well, though. I would have expected a small thing like yourself t’ need a break by now.”

At that, she laughed. “I made sure to sleep in until ten this morning,” she admitted. “And I had a nice, hearty elevensies.” With all the mugs filled, she hoisted the tray up, balancing it with one hand while the other brushed the hair from her face.

She made her way from behind the bar and across the room to a table of five hobbits. They were stained with dirt and their hair stuck to their foreheads a bit; she knew well enough that these five had been out on their farm, getting it ready to sow the summer crops. “Alright, sirs, here are your drinks,” she said, smiling at them. “Two beers—” she set the beers down, and then the ales “—and three ales. Anything else I can get for you?”

“Is there any o’ Petunia’s chicken stew left?” the elder of the bunch, Ernest, questioned.

“Last I saw there were about three bowlfuls left, but that was nigh five minutes ago. I can’t make any promises that there’s some left.”

“If there’s any left, I’ll take as much of it as I can get. The boys here will have whatever you bring ‘em.”

“We’re not a picky bunch—just hungry,” one of his younger sons said, a tired smile on his lips.

She nodded in understanding, tucking the tray under her arm. “Well, then, I’ll see what I can do for you.” Turning, she wormed her way through the intoxicated crowd, and went in search of some food. She ducked into the kitchen, where it was a bit quieter, but even warmer, than it was in the common room.

Peering into the cauldron that had contained the chicken stew, she was relieved to see that there was just enough for one bowl left. As she ladled it into a large serving bowl, there was a burst of drunken laughter before a chorus of voices started to sing. She winced slightly; being drunk, the owners of the voices weren’t exactly on key…or very good. It was also the third or fourth time the same song had been sung, as it was apparently Old Pearl’s favorite.

‘At least I get to go home soon,’ she told herself. ‘I’ll get to go home to a nice, quiet supper with da’, maybe read a book and have a pipe before dinner…’

Grabbing a plate, she started to pile food onto it—a mixture of sausages, fried tomatoes, chips, and some dinner rolls. Another plate got a hearty helping of mashed potatoes and gravy, a thin steak, some asparagus, and some rolls as well. She did her best to vary the foods on the plates, not wanting the brothers to starve, but also not wanting to seem like she didn’t really care about what she gave them.

By the time she was finished, she had filled two of the serving trays. Each one she lifted up, balancing them in her palms as she walked through the kitchen and out into the common room. Her brows furrowed slightly—some of the tables had been shoved off to the side and a group of Bracegirdles and Bolgers were dancing in the middle of the room as music started to play. Ernest and his boys were on the far side of the room, past the dancing hobbits and the stacked-up tables.

“Oh dear,” she murmured. “Now this is a bit of a pickle.” She looked around for any sort of path that would let her get through. Finally, she spotted one—it’d be a bit risky, as she would have to get close to the drunken dancers. ‘I think I can do it, though. Just need to time things with the song…’

She made her way through the room, carefully weaving and winding her way along the invisible path. More than once, she found herself having to duck under flailing arms or sharply turning her body to avoid hitting a patron. But, after five harrowing minutes, she finally made it to the table of Bolgers.

“Sorry about the wait, sirs,” she apologized. Setting one of the trays down on the table, she began to unload it with her free hand. “Things got a wee bit crazy, as you can see.”

“It’s no trouble, Miss Baggins,” Ernest told her. “When you put Bolgers and Bracegirdles together, ‘crazy’ is usually the least of your problems.” He grinned as she set the bowl of stew in front of him. “Ahh, there was enough left for a bowl, then? My stomach is going to be mighty happy.”

“You got the very last of it, in fact,” she chuckled. “I almost had to hop inside the pot to get all out!”

One of the brothers snickered. “Well, no offense, Miss Baggins, but you _are_ about the size of a walnut.”

Her brow rose and she let out a laugh. “That’s funny—da’ was just telling me the other day that I was the size of an acorn!” She placed the final plate in front of him before setting a gravy boat in the center of the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Oh, this is more than enough, Miss Baggins,” Ernest told her. “Thank you very much.”

Plucking up her serving trays, she smiled. “Just give a holler if you do need something—we _might_ hear it over this racket.” She then turned and let them be, knowing that they wanted to get their bellies filled. Navigating her way through the crowd, she glanced at the clock when she finally reached the other side. Seeing that it was half-past six, her eyes widened.

“Oh bollocks,” she murmured. “I told da’ I’d be home by now!” She looked around the room and, spotting a hobbit lass with dark curls as well as one with golden waves, she let out a sigh of relief. ‘Good, good—Wenna and Rosamunda are here. I won’t feel _too_ guilty about clocking out…’ she thought.

She went over to the innkeeper, where she set her trays down. “Mister Posca, do you mind if I head home? I told da’ I’d try to be home by this time.”

At her words, the older hobbit jumped, his eyes wide in surprise. “Blessing above, Baylee—you just about scared me half to death!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said with a small frown. “I thought you had seen me coming.”

He shook his head. “I must have been distracted…There are a lot of mugs that need washing, after all.” Then, looking at the clock, he swore under his breath. “It’s already half past six? Aye, Miss Baggins, you’re free to go home. The others should be able to handle it from here.”

A bit of relief came to her features. “Thank you, Mister Posco. I’ll see you tomorrow—two to seven, right?”

“That’s right, lass. Have a good night an’ tell your dad I say hullo!”

“Will do! Goodnight!”

Taking her leave of the Green Dragon, she paused once she was a few strides from the front door. The air out here was much cooler; it was refreshing to breathe in and to feel against her sweaty skin. She began to walk once more, reaching behind her and undoing the ribbon that held her apron in place before taking it off and wiping her face down with a clean corner.

‘Oh, this is _so_ much better,’ she told herself. ‘As much as I love a good party, I prefer them to be held outdoors—where the smoke can be blown away and the drunks have more room to mill about.’ A small chuckle left her mouth and she lightly shook her head.

As she walked, she looked up The Hill, where Bag End was. She could see that the parlor and kitchen lights were lit and a smile came to her lips. ‘Da’s probably got supper cooking away—well, actually, it’s probably done by now.’ Her stomach suddenly growled with hunger and, despite no one being around, her cheeks started to burn with embarrassment. ‘That’s what I get for not eating since second breakfast…’

Within half of an hour, she was walking into the front hall of Bag End. “Da’, I’m home!” she called out. “Sorry I’m late—things got a bit crazy down at the Dragon!” She hung her apron up on a hook near the door only to stop and frown. There was an unfamiliar, forest-green cloak hanging there.

Bilbo suddenly came hurrying into the hall; he was in his dressing gown, though he still wore the day’s clothes beneath it. “B-Baylee, dear,” he said, his voice a mixture of panicked and exasperated. “I-I think it’s best if you-you stay in your room for a while, alright?” As he spoke, he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around so that she was facing ahead of him.

“Why? What’s wrong?” she asked. “And who owns that cloak?” she questioned, her brows furrowing as he started to gently push her down the hall.

Her father nervously looked over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to sneak up on him. “W-w-well, you see, I was eating supper when this _dwarf_ came to the door. Before I could stop him, he just—he just came barging in! Like he owned the place!”

Looking over her shoulder at him, she frowned. “Why in the world would a _dwarf_ just barge into Bag End like that?” she replied, her voice sounding a bit bland. If this was her father’s idea of a prank, it wasn’t very funny.

“I _don’t know_! And to make matters worse, he’s gone and eaten the supper I had prepared for us—”

The doorbell suddenly rang, startling them both. Swallowing hard, Bilbo stiffened. “Baylee. Room. Now.”

Baylee’s brow rose as she watched her father walk towards the door. She crouched down beside her grandmother’s glory box, peeking over the top of it. As the door swung open, she could see a dwarf with a long, white beard that was forked towards the bottom. Her head tilted; hobbits didn’t normally facial hair, so to see a beard as long as his was a bit fascinating.

“Balin, at your service,” he said with a friendly and a small bow.

Bilbo, however, was clearly still in shock. “G-good evening.”

“Yes, yes it is!” Balin agreed with a chuckle. He then walked into the hall, as if he had been invited in. “Though, I think it may rain later…Am I late?”

“Llllate…for what?”

Balin suddenly turned his head towards the parlor. “Oh!” he exclaimed before heading in. “Evenin’ brother!”

Baylee darted out from her hiding spot, ducking into the kitchen through the side door. On the kitchen table, she could see a mess of a plate, fish bones and bits of vegetables that had gone uneaten scattered around it—certainly not the fashion her father would leave a plate. Peeking around the corner, she could see another dwarf; this one standing a good four inches taller than Balin and who, from what she could see, had tattoos in place of hair along the center of his scalp.

‘That is the largest dwarf I’ve ever seen,’ she thought, her eyes widening. Not that she had seen many dwarves in her lifetime—the few she _had_ seen previously, she had seen from afar in the market. They would sometimes drop in to trade minerals and gems for tobacco or wool.

There was suddenly a dull thud as the two dwarves butted their heads together. The sound made her cringe, but they were, apparently, unaffected.

“Uh, excuse me—sorry, I hate to interrupt,” her father squeaked, “but the, ah, thing is, I’m not entirely sure you’re in the right house!”

Balin and the other dwarf continued to converse with one another, ignoring Bilbo. As they came towards the kitchen, she pressed herself against the wall—and just in time. They walked right past, taking no notice of her; Bilbo didn’t seem to notice her either. The three made their way to the pantry.

“Have yeh eaten?” the big dwarf asked. He grabbed a wooden mug and started to fill it with ale.

“Not yet, no—I was told there’d be food. And it looks like there’s plenty of it!” Balin let out a hearty laugh.

Bilbo, meanwhile, continued to ramble on as if the two were paying attention to him. “It’s not that I don’t like visitors; I-I-I like visitors as much as the next hobbit,” he told them, “but I _do_ like to know them before they come visiting!”

“Ah, that looks very nice indeed.” Balin had picked up loaf of bread she had baked the previous day.

The other one motioned towards a lump of cheese. “What’s that?”

Plucking it from the shelf, Balin inspected it. “I don’t know—looks like cheese? But it’s gone blue.”

“It’s riddled with mold.” Taking the cheese from his brother, he tossed it over his shoulder.

Baylee’s eyes widened and she lunged forward, catching the cheese before it could hit the floor. “This is _supposed_ to be blue!” she scolded.

All three males spun around, looking at her in shock. She felt her cheeks beginning to burn as she realized she had been caught. An innocent smile came to her lips as she saw how flustered her father now looked.

“Well, aren’t you a little thing!” Balin chuckled. “We weren’t told that you had a family, Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo’s cheeks were burning with frustration. “Baylee, I told you to go to your room,” he said, doing his best to remain polite in front of these strangers.

She was about to reply when the doorbell rang again. “I’ll get that!” she chirped. As she turned and darted away, she could hear Bilbo uselessly protesting. Passing through the kitchen, she set the cheese on the table and grabbed a dinner roll in its place.

The doorbell rang a second time just as her hand touched the handle. Opening the door, she was greeted by the sight of two more dwarves—these two being much younger looking than Balin and his brother.

“Fili,” said the blonde.

“And Kili,” said the brunette.

“At your service,” they chorused, bowing in unison.

As Kili stood upright again, he grinned. “You must be Mister—” The smiled faded from his face slightly as he realized he was not talking to a male hobbit, but a female one. “Ah, _Miss_ Boggins!”

“ _Baggins_ , actually,” she gently corrected. “Baylee Baggins at your service.” She then squeaked and hurriedly stepping aside as the two came walking into the house. “U-Um, pardon me, but why, exactly, are you lot here?”

Fili removed a belt from around his torso. “He told us to come here, of course.” He dumped the belt—which was attached to a pair of swords—on the floor.

“And who is ‘he’?”

“It’s nice, this place!” Kili complimented. As he spoke, he scraped some mud off his boots on the edge of the box that Baylee had hidden behind earlier. “D’you do it yourself?”

“N-No, my grandfather—” Her eyes widened as she saw him cleaning his shoes on the glory box. “Excuse me, please don’t do that! Tha-That’s my grandmother’s glory box! It’s rather precious to us!”

The large dwarf suddenly appeared, clapping Kili on the shoulder. “Fili, Kili, come on. Give us a hand,” he gruffed.

Kili looked as if he were in awe. “Mister Dwalin!”

“So _that’s_ his name,” Baylee murmured. She followed after them, barely remembering to take a bite of the roll she had snatched just a few minutes ago.

“Let’s shove this in the hallway,” Balin was saying from the dining room, “otherwise we’ll never get everyone in.”

“Ev-everyone?” Bilbo cried. “How many more are there!?” He looked over at his daughter, the scolding look coming to his face. “Baylee, I said—” But, yet again, the doorbell rang, interrupting him. Before his daughter had the chance to move, he stormed past her. “Oh _no._ No, no, _no!_ ” he cried, making his way to the door. “There’s _nobody_ home! Go away and bother somebody else!” He winced as his toes caught on the hilt of one of Fili’s swords and, holding onto his foot, he hissed quietly in pain. “There’s far too many dwarves in my dining as it is. If-if-if this is some clot-head’s idea of a joke, I can only say that it is in _very_ poor taste!” Despite his words, his hand grabbed the handle of the door and yanked it open.

Baylee, of course, had followed him. When he opened the door, she had to bite back a giggle as nine dwarves came tumbling in in a large heap. One of them, she could see, was very fat—and he was the one at the top of the pile. From behind the dwarves, though, an old man caught her attention. He wore grey, travel-worn clothes and had a large, pointy hat on his head. In his hand, he held a walking stick and, on his face, there was an amused smile.

“ _Gandalf_ ,” she whispered, her eyes widening. She had never seen the old wizard before, but she had heard plenty of stories about him.

“Careful! Careful, now!” Gandalf chuckled. Reaching down, he hoisted the fat dwarf onto his feet. “It’s not like you, Bilbo, to keep friends waiting on the mat and then yank open the door like that!”

Freed from the weight of the fat dwarf, the others hopped to their feet.

“Dori,” said the one with silver hair pulled back in intricate braids.

“Nori,” said the one with reddish-brown hair in the shape of a star.

“Ori,” said the youngest of the group, his dirty-blonde hair cut short.

“Oin,” said the eldest of the group, his grey, braided mustache resembling tusks.

“Gloin,” said the one with the largest red beard out of them all.

“Bifur,” said the dwarf with wild black-and-white hair and—was that an _ax?!_ —sticking out of his forehead.

“Bofur!” said the one with a hat and brown, braided pigtails.

“And Bombur,” said the fat dwarf, whose gingery beard was braided in an immense circle.

“At your service!” the lot of them chorus while bowing.

She looked at her father; his face was pale and almost clammy; a part of her wondered if he was going to faint. Clearing her throat, she stepped forward. “And Bilbo and Baylee Baggins at yours!” she replied, offering the group a friendly smile.

A curious look came to Gandalf’s face as the dwarves filed in past the two hobbits. “…I wasn’t aware you had taken a wife, Bilbo,” he said.

“Wh-wh-what?! Wife!? No—heavens, no!” Bilbo stammered. “Baylee’s my _daughter_!” He then shook his head and rested both palms on his forehead. “Oooh dear…oooh dear, what is happening right now…?”

“It would seem that we’re having an unexpected party,” Baylee said, rubbing the side of her neck. She glanced over in time to see—was it Nori? Yes, Nori—walking by with a stack of plates balanced in one hand. “O-oh, be careful please!” she called out. “Those are our good plates!”

Finding herself ducking and weaving through the throng of dwarves, she hurried towards the pantry. “Please not all the wine! I was going to make stew with that!”

“Here, be a good lass and take this to the table,” Gloin said, tossing her a platter containing an entire roast chicken.

She nearly swore as she leapt forward, catching the plate; the bottom of it was still warm, letting her know that her father had cooked it earlier in the day.

“Take this, too, lass!”

She just barely had time to get the chicken balanced on one hand when Nori tossed her a bowl of bread. How she caught it, she wasn’t sure—but she thanked her blessings that she had. With little choice left to her, she moved to take the food to the dining room, finding herself having to navigate through the dwarves as they all but ransacked Bag End in their search for furniture and food.

“No, no! That’s Grandpa Mungo’s chair!” she heard Bilbo cry from the parlor. “No, I’m sorry, you’ll _have_ to that it back, please.”

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Turning around, she looked up to find Dori. “Excuse me, Miss Baggins,” he said, “but would you be so kind as to tell me where your wineglasses are?”

“Uh-um, in the cabinet in the back-left corner of the pantry,” she replied. “Be careful with the door; it likes to get stuck.”

“Thank you very much!” And with that, he hurried off.

‘I don’t know if this is better or worse than the Green Dragon,’ she thought, pressing herself against the wall as Fili and Kili carried a table in from the smoking room. “Oh, be careful!” she squeaked, her eyes wide.

“Sorry, Miss Boggins!” Kili said as they set the table down right up against the end of the dining table.

“It’s _Baggins_ , you knucklehead,” Fili sternly corrected. He then looked at Baylee, giving her an apologetic smile. “But aye, we’re sorry! We didn’t see you. Could you tell us where we could get more chairs?”

She blinked, her mind racing with all the chairs she had already seen be dragged out that night. “Um, I think all the chairs are taken—but there is a bench out in the garden?”

“Wonderful! How do we get out there?”

“Follow the hallway until the fork at the end. It’ll be the last door on the left.”

“Thank you, Miss Baggins!”

As the two walked off, Baylee wondered if she should have told them where the garden was. Before she could think on it much longer, however, someone came around the corner and slammed into her. A small yelp of surprise left her mouth as she tumbled sideways, but someone caught her before she could fall.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Miss Baggins,” Dwalin called from inside the dining room. “I didn’t see yeh there!”

“You’re not hurt, are you, miss?” She looked up only to see Ori. “Dwalin’s got a lot of spiky bits on him; I hope he didn’t cut you…” He set her on her feet, a worried look on his face.

She shook her head, brushing down her skirts. “N-No, no, I’m fine, I assure you,” she told him. “Have you seen my da’?”

“I saw him by Mister Gandalf by the front door.”

“Thank you, Master Ori.”

As she walked towards the front entrance, she could see that it was still just as chaotic as she had left it. Feeling like she was being followed, she glanced over her shoulder to see that Ori was following her, a bowl of tomatoes now in hand.

“Fili, Kili…Oin, Gloin…” Gandalf was muttering to himself, counting on his fingers. “Dwalin, Balin—Bifur, Bofur, Bombur…” He turned around in a circle, his eyes narrowing as he tried to keep track of all the dwarves. “Dori, Nori…ahh, and Ori.”

Spotting Bilbo, Baylee went over to him; he still looked a bit pale. “Da’? Are you alright? Do you need me to make you some tea?”

The only thing he could muster in reply was a somewhat squeaky half-groan.

Bifur walked past them and up to Gandalf. He spoke to the wizard in a strange tongue before raising his forearm and smacking it with his other hand.

Gandalf nodded in understanding. “Yes, you’re quite right, Bifur. We do appear to be one dwarf short.”

“There’s supposed to be another!?” Baylee gawked, though she went unnoticed.

“He is late is all,” Dwalin replied. As Bofur walked by with two mugs of ale, he grabbed one. “He travelled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come.” He then turned, joining the rest of the dwarves in the dining room.

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, no, no,” he groaned. “Not _more_ dwarves…”

Baylee lightly patted his shoulder. “There’s still a chair in the parlor, da’,” she told him. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring you a spot of tea and a bite to eat?”

“What’s left to eat!?” he cried. He motioned at the dining room. “They’ve got all our food, Baylee!” He slumped against the wall, a hand on his forehead as he groaned. His brows suddenly furrowed in confusion as he felt something slip into his hand. Looking down, he found a dinner roll with a single, small bite taken out of it. He then glanced around for Baylee, but couldn’t find her.

And that was due to the fact that she was in the kitchen. Her father had been right—the pantry had been picked clean of nearly everything, as had the kitchen. Spotting an empty bowl, she grabbed it before looking into the dining room. The dwarves had packed themselves in quite tight—there wasn’t much space between them and the walls of the room. In fact, Fili was forced to climb _onto_ the table in order to bring an ale down to Oin.

‘But there’s enough room for a hobbit to sneak through,’ she thought, a determined look coming to her features.

Pressing herself against the wall, she started to make her way through the room. Whenever she spotted a bit of food that was untouched and within reach, her arm darted out, snatching it up before adding it to the bowl. It was an extremely tricky task, given how much the dwarves were throwing food around and how their limbs were flailing about. She did get a bit of a reprieve halfway, though, when they suddenly paused to chug their ales down in unison. Finally reaching the end of the table, she narrowly avoided getting squished under Bofur who, in a fit of laughter, fell off his stool.

“You’re quite the little sneak, aren’t you?”

She squeaked and spun around, clutching the bowl to her chest. There stood Gandalf, an amused smile on his lips. “M-M-Mister Gandalf, sir!” she stammered. “I-I was just getting some food for my da’ is all!”

He chuckled and nodded his head slowly in understanding. “I suppose it’s not counted as theft if you’re taking back your own food.” He inhaled some smoke from his pipe as he looked her over. “You seem to be handling this much better than your father.”

She swallowed hard, glancing into the parlor where Bilbo was pacing. “T-to be honest sir, I am _quite_ overwhelmed. But I was just down at the Green Dragon, helping out at a party even more rambunctious than this one—”

“A hard feat to accomplish!” he laughed. “But then again, an inn full of drunken hobbits can be quite hazardous to one’s health.”

“Especially when you’re toting around trays full of drinks that you just filled and food that’s piping hot,” she thought aloud.

“Hm?” She glanced over as Nori leaned forward. “Drink refills you say? Aye, I’ll take one, lass!”

“N-no, I was just telling Gandalf—”

“I could use a refill, too, Miss Baggins!” Dori said, holding up his wine glass.

Before she could correct them, the others were all calling for refills on their drinks. Not wanting to be impolite, Baylee tucked the bowl of food away in a safe spot before going to grab some trays for the mugs and glasses to sit on.

‘So this is what da’ meant when he said wizards bring nothing but trouble,’ she thought some minutes later. She turned the spigot on the ale barrel, making sure to keep the mug tilted so it wouldn’t over-foam. ‘I would have never guessed dwarves to be such rowdy folk! The ones who come to the market always seem so polite and careful.’ Shaking her head, she set the full mug aside in favor of grabbing another empty one. ‘I can’t say it’s _all_ bad, though. I’ve never seen this many dwarves at one time…and, individually, they can be polite. But, they’re not hobbits—why should I expect them to act like such?’

Getting the last mug filled, she went over to the wine and, finding that Dori had left the bottle on the counter near the wineglasses, she grabbed it. She had to used her teeth to uncork it, however, as the cork had been pushed back in rather tightly. A small curse left her mouth as, thanks to the force she had to use, she was thrown off balance when the cork came out. Luckily, as she fell to the floor, her layers of petticoats cushioned her fall.

Unluckily, she now had a large splash of red wine right down the front of her light-green dress.

“Oh, bollocks,” she grumbled. “Thankfully, this wasn’t one of my favorites, anyway.” Standing up, she sighed and went to refill Dori’s wine. She then replaced the cork—not nearly as tight as before—and arranged the mugs so that their handles were all facing outwards.

It was a hard task, fitting eleven tankards and one wine glass onto just two trays, but she managed by fitting the wineglass in the center of one tray. She then lifted the trays, balancing each one on her palm, and made her way back through the nearly-empty pantry to the dining room.

“Alright, lads, your drinks are back,” she called overtop the noise they were making. “Take one down and pass it around!” She handed one tray to Nori and the other to Gloin. “Make sure Master Dori gets his wine!” Taking a step back, she watched as the dwarves did just that—they each took one of the tankards before passing the tray along. She was surprised by their politeness with this act; considering how they had been throwing food around earlier, she had half-expected them to fling the trays.

Brushing some hair from her face, she walked into the kitchen just in time to grab the now-empty trays from Fili and Kili. She placed them on the counter before leaning against it for a moment as a wave of lightheadedness washed over her. A small groan left her mouth and she closed her eyes.

“Food. I _need_ to get some food in me,” she mumbled. Remembering her hidden bowl, she retrieved it from the cupboard and started to sort through what she had managed to scavenge. She _had_ meant to give this to her father, but after having caught a glimpse of him in the parlor, she knew he was in no mood to eat. “Two chicken legs, some cherry tomatoes, a bit of cheese—a pickle? Why in the world did I grab _that_? I don’t even _like_ pickles!” Shaking her head, she set it off to the side before grabbing one of the chicken legs.

‘Maybe when they’re done, I’ll see if I can get anything for da’…’ Taking another bite of chicken, she could feel the lightheadedness beginning to fade away. ‘And I really must remember to not go so long between meals! There’s a reason we hobbits have seven meals most days!’ She reached over, grabbing a napkin—curiously, one of the few items the dwarves did _not_ grab—and used it to wipe her face before taking a third bite of chicken. ‘Da’ used the good seasoning salt on this one…’

After eating both chicken legs and the tomatoes, she returned to the pantry in hopes of finding _something_ that she could use to make herself a proper meal. What she just ate could hardly be considered a snack, let alone a meal, to a hobbit, and her stomach was demanding more. She thoroughly searched the room, even climbing onto counters to see the top shelves and practically climbing under them to see if anything had been dropped and rolled under.

Her search wasn’t in vain. She found that there was a crate of potatoes and a crate of onions left untouched due to them being uncooked. Upon going into the cold cellar, she found a couple of jars of chicken stock that she and Bilbo had made just a few days ago, so she grabbed those as well.

‘I can make a decent potato soup with these,’ she thought. ‘And if the lads have any leftover ham, which I doubt, I could throw that in, too.’ She then paused in her steps. ‘Wait. We didn’t put the _good_ ham in the pantry…’ A small grin appeared on her lips and, jars in hand, she darted across the hall into the kitchen. After putting the jars down on the table, she hurried to the corner where a set of cabinets had been built into the wall. Flinging open the doors, her eyes widened and she did a little hop of joy.

Hanging from the top of the cabinet was a large, cherrywood smoked, bone-in ham. Then, remembering that they had company, she shut the doors again. ‘Don’t need them taking this just yet—especially since Halfast saved it just for me and da’…’ Her cheeks flushed slightly at the thought of the handsome, young butcher.

She was in the middle of sautéing some diced onions when Bilbo came in. He wasn’t nearly as pale now, but he still looked quite irritated.

“How’re you doing, da’?” she asked him. She moved to grab the kettle and, finding it full, put it on the stove grate to heat up.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, plopping down at the table. “There are twelve dwarves and a wizard in our house; our pantry’s all but empty; and our plumbing is in ruins. _You_ tell _me_ how I’m doing.” Slouching forward, he buried his face in his hands for a moment.

Baylee sat beside him and rested her head against his shoulder. “At least they’ve quieted down now,” she murmured. “They must finally be _eating_ rather than playing with their food.”

A small, albeit feeble, laugh left his mouth. “That’s true,” he agreed. Looking up, he sniffed the air. “What’re you cooking?”

“It’s going to be potato and ham soup.”

His brows rose and he glanced down at her. “We had that many ingredients left?”

“The onions were raw, as were the potatoes. And the chicken stock was in the cold cellar, which wasn’t really touched.” A mischievous twinkle came to her eyes and she grinned cheekily. “And the cherrywood-smoked ham was hidden away, so it’s untouched.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and a grin slowly spread across his lips. “Are you serious?” he whispered, afraid that the dwarves may overhear and come steal the ham, too. As Baylee nodded, he got up and went over to the cupboard. He opened the doors _just_ enough to peek in. “Oh, bless me, it’s true!” Just as his daughter had done, he quickly closed the cabinet so no one else could see inside.

Baylee giggled as she stood up, moving to stir the onions around. “I was _so_ relieved when I remembered it. I wish I could use it in something better than soup, but…desperate times call for desperate measures.” Lifting a large bowl filled with cubed potatoes, she carefully poured its contents into the soup pot. “Can you bring me the stock, please?”

Spotting the two jars, he grabbed them and brought them over to the stove. “Would you like me to pour them in for you?” he questioned as he opened both jars for her.

“Yes, please.” She grabbed a wooden box and flicked it open to reveal its contents—salt. As Bilbo poured the stock into the pot, she used a spoon to scoop some of the salt out of the box and into the pot.

“Shouldn’t you use more than that?” he asked, his brow rising.

“After I add in the ham, I’ll check it.” She set the box down in favor of another, smaller box—this one contained pepper. “Hm. I might need some cream once these potatoes cook down…”

At that, Bilbo frowned. “I saw the dwarves take the cream. It’s probably gone by now.”

Her brow rose. “Why in the world would they want cream?” She then shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll go see if they’ve left any.”

His frown grew in size. “Wh-wh-what do you mean, you’ll go see if there’s—” But as he glanced over to look at his daughter, he found she was gone. Spinning around, he was just in time to see a bit of her green skirt disappear around the corner and into the dining room.

‘Cream…cream…where is that pitcher of cream?’ she thought, trying to see the table from between the dwarves. It was easier than her first venture in; the dwarves really were concentrating more on eating than amusing themselves. She was a little surprised to see that Gandalf had wedged himself in amongst the group, eating away.

Then, as she found herself behind Ori, Fili, and Kili, she spotted a familiar pitcher. ‘Aha!’ Carefully, she leaned forward, her small arm slipping between them. But it was just out of reach. She frowned, doing her best to stretch, but her fingertips could just _barely_ brush against the handle.

“Kili, be a good lad and hand Miss Baggins that pitcher of cream, will you?” Gandalf suddenly said.

She blinked in surprise and confusion, lifting her head in time to see Kili looking down at her with nearly an identical expression. Startled by her sudden appearance, he cried out and tried to shove himself away from her only to get pushed back by Fili. Yelping herself, she hopped backwards—not that she could hop very far, thanks to there being a wall behind her.

“Mahal’s beard, when did you get there!?” he gasped as the others started to laugh at their reactions.

“A-a-about two minutes ago,” she stammered, wondering who ‘Mahal’ was. She bit her lower lip, feeling her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t mean to startle you. I just need that cream there.”

He stared at her for a few seconds longer before nodding slowly. Grabbing the pitcher, he made to hand it to her, but before she could take it, he pulled it out of her reach and pointed a finger at her. “No more sneaking around like a mouse,” he jokingly scolded. “Or we’ll have to put a bell on you.” Only then did he hand over the pitcher.

She quickly thanked him and made her way back to the kitchen, where Bilbo was nervously pacing. “Got the cream,” she told him, pushing a bit of hair from her face. She suddenly squeaked as Bilbo gently grabbed onto her shoulders.

“You’re not hurt, are you? I heard yelling!” He looked down at her, worry all over his features.

“I’m fine, da’, I’m fine,” she assured him. “Kili and I startled each other is all.” She gave him a small smile and reached up, patting the top of his head.

A heavy sigh left his mouth and he nodded, letting go of her shoulders. “Good, good…I don’t know what I would have done if you had gotten hurt—there’s so many of them in there, I don’t know if I would have been able to reach you!”

“I don’t think you’d have to worry about that.” She set the cream down on the table before going to stir the soup. Her brow rose—there wasn’t nearly as much stock in it as she expected. “Yes, they’re rambunctious, but they’re not a particularly violent lot.” Looking at the counter beside her, though, she discovered why the pot wasn’t full: Bilbo had only added in one of the jars. Sighing, she picked up the second and poured its contents into the pot as well.


	3. Chapter 3

Standing on her tiptoes, Baylee took a sip of soup from the wood spoon, letting the flavors linger in her mouth for a moment. “Hmm…still needs more salt. And could do with a bit more ham, too.” She set the spoon over the top of the pot before turning around to face the table. There, she had a plate with a pile of ham cubes sitting on it; before picking up the plate, she took one of the cubes and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm…yes, this is going to make the soup even better. There should be no harm in adding the rest of it…”

As she poured the entire plate’s worth of ham into the pot, she could hear the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. Her brow rose slightly and she wondered if the dwarves were finally done eating or if they simply needed their drinks refilled again. Grabbing her salt box, she added a large pinch of the seasoning to the pot as well before giving it a good stir.

“Now to let that cook a few minutes before tasting it again…”

“Oh my, does it ever smell wonderful in here!” She stiffened slightly as she heard the dwarvish voice. Daring to look over her shoulder, she saw Balin stepping in through the doorway. “What is it you’re making, Miss Baggins?”

Part of her wanted to stay quiet in case he and the others wanted some of the soup. But, the Baggins part of her told her to not be rude and to answer him. “Ham and potato soup,” she politely answered.

“Ahh, I knew there had to be ham involved,” he chuckled. “No worries about sharing it with any o’ us, by the way—we’ve eaten our fill. Though, the final member of our group will be quite hungry when he arrives—he’s traveled a great distance, after all. Do you think you’d be able to spare any for him, lassie?”

She glanced at the pot; it was one of her bigger soup pots, so there was more than enough for two hobbits—but two hobbits and a dwarf? “There should be, yes,” she replied. “I added extra ham into it, so hopefully he’ll find it quite hearty.” Giving the pot a good stir, she took another sip from the spoon. “Oh, now that’s perfect…” she murmured to herself.

“Your father is quite an excitable little fellow, isn’t he?” Balin then asked. “Or is that a trait most hobbits share?”

“A fair few hobbits are excitable, though da’ is a bit more so than most,” she chuckled. “He’s lived a quiet life—no offense, but you lads showing up has practically thrown his world upside down.”

At that, the old dwarf laughed. “Ah, yes, I could tell that much from the moment I arrived. You don’t seem to be quite as anxious as he is, however. In fact, you’ve seemed rather calm all evening. Save for that little scare you and Kili gave one another.”

Her cheeks turned a bit pink. “I promise you, I only seem calm because of how utterly overwhelmed I am,” she laughed. “Though, to be honest, this isn’t terribly out of the ordinary for me—I work at the local inn, so I’m used to large gatherings.”

“Is that so? Well, that certainly explains your excellent service with the drinks,” he chuckled. “Which, by the way, we may need to call upon again once our final member is here.”

“Al-alright,” she said, rubbing the side of her neck. “So long as no one asks for wine a—” But as she looked back at the doorway, Balin was gone. A sigh left her mouth; she had been hoping to sit down and eat soon…but she was quickly learning that, when one had a house full of dwarves, plans weren’t likely to go right.

“Excuse me!” she heard her father called from the hallway. “That is a _doily_! _Not_ a dishcloth!”

Biting her lower lip, she crept over to the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. The dining table, she saw, was absolutely covered by cutlery, dishware, and puddles of ale. From the looks of it, there was hardly any food left—and the what was left was only small chunks. The majority of the dwarves were still seated, content grins on their faces as they started to pull out their pipes.

She shook her head and turned around only to jump in surprise as she saw Bifur coming into the kitchen. He headed over to the little corner window, where the sink was located. Before he could begin pumping the water, however, a plate came soaring through the air towards the back of his head. Baylee would have called out a warning, but he reached behind him and caught the dish before she could even _think_ of something to say. As a second plate came flying in, he grabbed that, too.

And then, more dishes came flying in.

Her brow rose slightly as, in the dining room, she could hear the other dwarves beginning to stamp out a playful rhythm on both the floor and the table top. Turning, she could see them beginning to use the utensils to add an extra ‘note’ to the rhythm they were drumming out.

“Excuse me!” her father cried, sounding very distressed now. “That’s my mother’s West Farthing crockery! It’s over a hundred years old! Can—can you _not_ do that?! You’ll _blunt_ them!”

“Ooh, d’ya hear that, lads?” Bofur grinned. His voice had a mischievous musicality to it. “He says we’ll blunt the knives!”

Eyes widening as she realized what was about to happen, Baylee pressed herself against a cabinet and crouched down. A grin came to her lips as she watched even more dishes go flying.

From the hallway, she heard Kili beginning to sing, the other dwarves soon joining in.

_“Blunt the knives, bend the forks_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!_

_Chip the glasses and crack the plates!_

_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”_

Leaving her spot, Baylee crept over to the hallway. Ori was standing beside her father, a stack of plates and bowls accumulating in his hands. Part of the hobbit lass was horrified to see the dishes being kicked about and bounced off foreheads, but another part of her was utterly amazed.

_“Cut the cloth and tread on the fat_

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor_

_Splash the wine on every door!”_

Making her way back to the dining room, she found that, from somewhere, Dwalin had acquired a fiddle and Bofur a tin whistle. Fili was on the table once more, kicking the plates around while Bombur sat at the end of the table, wiping the remaining bits of food from the dishware and into his mouth.

_“Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole_

_When you’ve finish, if any are whole_

_Send them down the hall to roll!”_

As her father suddenly burst into the kitchen, they finished the song off with a final line of _“That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”_ followed by a hearty bout of laughter.

Standing up, Baylee turned around only to gasp in amazement: Their entire collection of dishware was neatly stacked on the kitchen table. As she stepped close, she saw that they were all as clean as could be. Bifur, meanwhile, was drying his hands off with dishcloth.

“How in the—” she started to asked, but she was quickly interrupted by three loud knocks coming from the door.

Everyone suddenly fell silent, their gazes turning towards the entrance hall.

“He is here,” Gandalf said, his tone serious.

As he and the dwarves started to make their way out of the kitchen, Baylee felt someone grab her wrist and pull her aside. Looking over, she saw Bilbo beside her. Once the dwarves had left the room, he led her out into the hall.

“I don’t like how quiet they all just got,” he murmured to her. “If this is supposedly one of their companions, shouldn’t they still be acting all rowdy and such?”

“Whoever he is, he sounds important.” Before they could round the corner to the entrance hall, he stopped her again.

“You can peek, Baylee,” he told her, holding up a stern finger, “but I don’t want whoever this person is to see you. Not yet, anyway. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Yes, da’.” And, following his directions, she pressed herself against the wall before peeking around the corner.

As Gandalf opened the door, yet another dwarf was revealed. He wore a heavy cloak as well as a fur-lined jacket. Even if the others hadn’t referred to him with reverence, Baylee would have been able to tell that this dwarf was an important person.

“Gandalf,” he said, stepping inside as he unclasped his cloak. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find?” As he removed his cloak, he gave a nod of acknowledgement to the dwarves around him, some of whom bowed. “I lost my way. _Twice_. Wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.”

“Mark!?” Bilbo spluttered in disbelief. “There’s no _mark_ on that door—It was painted a week ago!”

Gandalf cleared his throat. “There _is_ a mark; I put it there myself,” he quickly explained. “Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield.”

Baylee watched Thorin’s brow rise as he looked her father over. He didn’t seem very impressed by what he saw.

“So, this is the hobbit?” Thorin said, amusement in his voice. He passed his cloak off to Kili, who took it obediently. “Tell me, Mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

Baylee frowned; why would he ask her father such a thing? He was a hobbit and hobbits had ceased being warriors _centuries_ ago.

“P-Pardon me?” Bilbo stammered.

“Axe or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?” Thorin then asked.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “We-well, I have some skill at conkers, if you must know,” he stated. Then, seeing the unamused looks the others gave him, he quickly added, “But I fail to see why that’s relevant…”

“Thought as much.” Thorin turned to the others. “He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

Baylee’s frown grew in size. “Burglar?” she murmured. “Why in the world would he think da’ a burglar…?” Shaking her head, she turned and made her way back to the kitchen.

‘So far he seems to be a bit of a grump,’ she thought. She stood on her tiptoes, grabbing one of the wooden soup bowls. ‘But that could just be because he’s hungry…Balin did say he traveled rather far…’ Picking up a ladle, she began to fill the bowl with the soup, making sure to not skimp on the meat. Then, after grabbing a spoon, she set the bowl on a tray and carried it into the pantry.

She was more than a little surprised to find that there _had_ been food leftover from the abrupt feast earlier—quite a bit had been returned to the shelves, actually. As such, she grabbed a small loaf of bread, a bit of cheese, and filled a tankard with ale. All she put on the tray before lifting it and carrying it out towards the dining room. She took the long way around, not wanting to have to scooch her way past all the dwarves with hot soup and a full tankard of ale.

“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?” Balin asked as she neared the room. “Did they all come?”

“Aye,” Thorin replied. “Envoys from all seven kingdoms.” At this, the room was filled with an optimistic murmur.

Dwalin spoke now. “What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?”

“They will not come.” This was followed by a disappointed murmur. “They say this quest is ours and ours alone.”

Baylee came up alongside Thorin, setting the bowl of soup down on the table for him. She picked up the plate of bread and cheese next, but as she set it down, her wrist was suddenly grabbed and she squeaked. Looking up in fright, she saw Thorin half-glaring at her.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“B-Baylee Baggins…at your service, sir,” she replied. From the corner of her eye, she could see a few of the others biting back snickers. “I’m Bilbo’s daughter.”

Thorin’s brow rose and he released her wrist. “His daughter? More like his pet mouse,” he commented. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on people?”

“I-I’m sorry. I thought you had seen me walk up.” She set the ale down before looking at the others. “Would anyone like a refill?” It didn’t surprise her when twelve tankards were slid down the table towards her. She was able to fit most of them on the tray, but the rest she had to carry in her other hand.

As she walked to the pantry, she heard her father hesitantly ask. “You’re going on a quest?”

“Bilbo, my dear fellow,” Gandalf said, “let us have a little more light.”

While filling the tankards up once more, she could hear the dwarves quietly talking amongst themselves as they waited for her father to come back with a lamp. She was on the fifth mug when Gandalf spoke again.

“Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak.”

“The…Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo said. It sounded like he was reading off of something—a map, no doubt.

“Aye,” spoke Gloin. “Oin has read the portents an’ the portents say it is time.” As he spoke, Baylee noticed that he seemed to roll his letters a bit more than the others.

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold,” Oin then said. He, too, seemed to roll his letters. “When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

Setting the final mug down on the trays, she lifted them and left the pantry.

“Uh, what beast?” her father asked, no small amount of nervousness in his voice.

“Well that would be a reference t’ Smaug the Terrible,” Bofur explained. “Chiefest an’ greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks…Extremely fond of precious metals.”

“Yes, I know what a dragon is,” Bilbo replied, a bit of irritation in his voice. He glanced over as Baylee entered his peripheral.

“I’m not afraid!” Ori suddenly cried. As Baylee neared the dining room, she saw that he had stood up. “I’m up for it! I’ll give him a taste of the dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!”

She watched Dori yank his younger brother back into his seat. “Sit down!” he hissed scoldingly.

“The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us,” Balin sighed. “But we number just thirteen—and not thirteen of the best…nor the brightest.”

At that, the group burst out into a cacophony of objections and insults towards one another. Baylee swallowed hard, finding herself glad that she hadn’t passed around the drinks just yet—she was afraid that, if she had, they would have gotten knocked over or thrown in someone’s face. She looked over at Bilbo as he backed up a bit, placing himself between her and the throng of upset dwarves.

Fili’s voice suddenly rang out over the din. “We may be few in number,” he cried, “but we’re fighters! All of us, to the last dwarf!”

“And you forget,” Kili added as the arguments quieted down., “we have a _wizard_ in our company! Gandalf will have killed _hundreds_ of dragons in his time!”

Gandalf looked up, a bit startled that he was brought into this. “Oh, well now, I-I wouldn’t say that—”

“How many then?!” Dori demanded.

“What was that?” the wizard asked.

“Well, how many dragons have you killed?” Dori elaborated. “Go on then! Give us a number!”

Rather than giving an answer, Gandalf instead started to cough on his pipe smoke; his cheeks had turned quite red by now. Once more, the dwarves started to argue and shout, some of them even jumping to their feet in an attempt to intimidate the others. Bilbo turned, gently pushing his daughter back another foot or so. She wanted to protest against this—the trays were beginning to feel quite heavy.

“ _SHAZARA!”_

Baylee nearly dropped the trays in fright as Thorin jumped to his feet and shouted. Everyone else quickly sat back down, utterly silent.

“If we had read these signs, do you not think others will have read them, too?” he told them, his voice bearing the full weight of whatever authority it was that he held. “Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon, Smaug, has not been seen for over _sixty_ years.”

As Thorin spoke, both Baylee and Bilbo found themselves envisioning a mountain far, far from their home, its halls paved with all manner of gold and jewels. But while Bilbo also pictured himself standing atop a pile of gold, Baylee saw herself walking through the foreign halls, looking over the unfamiliar dwarven architecture.

“Eyes look east to the Mountain…assessing, wondering, _weighing_ the risk.” Thorin’s voice drew the two hobbits from their thoughts, cementing them back in reality. “Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected? Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor!?” The dwarves let out a triumphant cheer. “ _Du bekâr! Du bekâr!”_

Taking the opportunity, Baylee darted forward and handed off the trays to Gandalf and Bofur. She then stepped off to the side, partially hiding herself behind the dwarf.

Amidst the cheering, Balin suddenly spoke up. “You forget: The front gate is _sealed_ ,” he reminded them, his tone an almost grandfatherly sort of scolding. “There is _no_ way into the mountain.”

“That, my dear Balin,” Gandalf smiled, “is not entirely true.” Baylee’s eyes widened as, seemingly from nowhere, he produced a strange, angular key. Thorin, too, stared at it in awe.

“How came you by this?” he quietly demanded.

“It was given to me by your father—by Thrain—for safekeeping.” He held it out towards the dwarf. “It is yours now.”

As the key was passed off, Baylee noticed something laying on the tabletop: An old, weathered map. She moved a bit closer to the table, looking it over with interest; like her father, she had a love for maps and it was always a treat to see one of distant lands. From where she stood, she could see that it was aligned differently than maps she was used to—it seemed that, on this map, it was aligned so that east lay at the top of the page rather than north.

She blinked as the stem of Gandalf’s pipe suddenly hovered over the page, near a drawing of a hand on the left side. “These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls,” he explained.

“There’s another way in!” Kili gasped, a grin on his lips.

“Well, if we can _find_ it,” Gandalf gently corrected. “But dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden _somewhere_ in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But…there _are_ others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage.” Baylee noticed that, as he spoke, he glanced at her father from the corner of his eye; she swallowed hard. All of a sudden, she realized why Thorin had been asking her father about his preferred weapon. “But…if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.”

“That’s why we need a burglar!” Ori chirped.

Bilbo nodded in agreement. “Hm, yes. A good one, too. An expert, I’d imagine,” he said. He hadn’t quite caught on yet, so when he glanced over at his daughter and saw her wide eyes fixed on him, he grew a bit concerned.

Gloin leaned forward. “And _are_ you?”

He frowned. “Am I what…?”

Oin suddenly let out a laugh. “He said he’s an expert!”

“Wh-what?!” Baylee piped up, startling both Bofur and Thorin. Neither had realized until then that she had been standing there. “No, no, no—my da’ is _no_ burglar. He’s not stolen a thing in his life!”

“What did I say about sneaking up on people, mouse-lass?” Thorin grumbled.

Before Baylee could inform him that she had, in fact, been standing there for a good ten minutes now and it was his own fault he hadn’t seen her, Balin spoke up. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Miss Baggins. Mister Baggins is hardly burglar material.”

Both Bilbo and Dwalin nodded in agreement. “Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves,” the latter said.

Once more, an argument broke out among the dwarves. Baylee made a mental note to serve them all tea or water the next time they wanted their tankards refilled. It was strange to her how, before Thorin arrived, they had seemed so friendly with one another and there had been no arguments of any sort.

‘I suppose that’s what happens when heavy subjects are being discussed in a stranger’s house,’ she thought, rubbing her temple. What didn’t help matters was that the dining room was beginning to grow quite warm—how the dwarves weren’t sweating buckets yet in all their layers, she hadn’t a clue.

“Enough!” Gandalf suddenly snapped, drawing everyone’s attention. His voice sounded too big for his body and the lights seemed to grow dim. “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he _is_.” A few seconds passed and, as the light level returned to normal, he let out a sigh. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, as Miss Baggins keeps demonstrating this evening, they can pass unseen by most of they so choose.”

“I’m _not_ choosing,” she muttered under her breath, cheeks growing bright pink. “They’re just not _looking_.” She heard Bofur somewhat fail at restraining a snort.

“And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf,” he continued, either not hearing her or plain ignoring her, “the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage.” He looked around at the dwarves, a knowing look on his face. “You asked _me_ to find the fourteenth member of this company and I have chosen Mister Baggins. There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest—and he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself and his daughter. You _must_ trust me on this.”

All was silent for a few minutes. Baylee glanced over at her father to find that he had grown pale again. He had rarely liked being the center of attention and now that he was both the center of attention in addition to hosting a troupe of strange, treasure-seeking dwarves…She let out a soft sigh. He was going to need quite a few puffs of Longbottom Leaf before bed that night.

With a sigh, Thorin finally spoke. “Very well. We will do it your way, Gandalf.”

“N-No, no, no!” Bilbo protested, eyes widening to the size of saucers.

“Give him the contract,” the dwarf continued, ignoring him. “And have one drawn up for Miss Baggins as well.”

Her eyes shot open. “M-m-me? Why?!” she squeaked.

“N-No! Absolutely _not_! You are not taking my daughter on a quest across Middle Earth!” Bilbo stated, doing his best to sound more firm and less distressed. He blinked as he was suddenly handed a neatly folded length of paper by Balin.

“It’s just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth,” he explained. “Miss Baggins can take a look as well; hers will be nearly the same.”

“Funeral arrangements!?” both Bagginses squeaked.

Biting her lower lip, Baylee went over to Bilbo as he stepped back into the brighter light of the entrance hall. Untying the green silk ribbon keeping it all together, he unfolded the contract only to watch it unfold nearly all the way to the ground. He held it a bit lower so Baylee could read it as well.

“ _Terms: Cash on delivery, up to, but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any_ ,” she read aloud. “Seems decently fair…”

Bilbo glanced over the rest of the contract while he made his way to the bottom. “ _Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence,”_ Bilbo read, brows furrowing, “ _thereof including but not limited to lacerations…evisceration…incineration!?”_ His eyes practically bulged out of his head as he looked up. He suddenly felt quite woozy.

“Oh, aye, he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink o’ an eye,” Bofur told him, leaning forward in his seat.

“Oh dear,” Baylee murmured, seeing her father grow even paler. Reaching over, she plucked the contract from his hands and folded it back up.

“You alright, laddie?” Balin questioned, genuine concern on his face.

Swallowing hard, Bilbo half nodded and bent over, resting his hands on his upper thighs. “U-Uh, yeah…Feel a bit faint.” He closed his eyes as Baylee started to fan him with the contract.

“Think furnace with wings!” Bofur added, a bit of mirth in his voice.

“A-air. I—I need air,” Bilbo wheezed and Baylee started to fan him a bit faster. He stood upright in the hopes that the wooziness would go away.

“Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash!”

“Yes, Bofur, we can imagine quite well what incineration by dragon would be—” Baylee let out a rather unladylike curse as her father suddenly fell unconscious and collapsed to the floor in a heap.

Gandalf gave Bofur a scolding look. “Very helpful, Bofur,” he grumbled.

After getting help with moving her father to his favorite chair in the parlor—which, thankfully, had been left untouched—Baylee found herself finally getting a moment to breathe. As such, she served herself a small bowl of soup (her appetite had mostly disappeared, but she knew she had to get at least _one_ proper meal in her) and went to sit in the dining room. It was practically empty now, with most of the dwarves wandering around Bag End or stepping outside to get a breath of fresh air in the garden. Only Balin and Thorin were left, the former working on the beginnings of a new contract while the latter was scraping the bottom of his bowl.

She walked past them, doing her best to _not_ sneak up on either of them; she even made sure to set her bowl down with a small ‘thud’. Though, she didn’t sit quite yet—she had noticed how Thorin was trying to get every drop of soup that he could. “Would you like more soup?” she asked him.

“Please,” he said, holding the bowl to her. “Extra meat this time. That ham is very good.”

Nodding, she took his bowl and went back into the kitchen. Using her foot, she lightly kicked a stepstool over to the grate and stepped onto it. Able to see into the pot better now, she sank the ladle all the way to the bottom, getting two and a half large scoops of mostly ham before filling the bowl the rest of the way with broth.

She returned to the dining room with the full bowl of soup and set it down in front of Thorin. Brushing some hair from her face, she went to sit in front of her own bowl a few spots down from him. All was quiet, save for the occasional laughter of a dwarf from another part of the house.

‘I do hope they’re not in mine or da’s rooms,’ she thought, her eyes focused on her soup. ‘The last thing I need is for them to go snooping through our treasured things…’

“What title are we to give her?” Balin questioned after a few minutes.

Thorin looked at him, a brow raised; Baylee glanced at him, though tried her best to not be obvious. “Hm?” questioned the former.

“Miss Baggins. What’s her title going to be? Or is she to simply be our spare burglar?”

“Hm.” He was silent for a moment as he chewed a mouthful of ham. Then, swallowing, he looked at the hobbit and smirked in amusement. “Her title will be ‘Mouse-Lass’,” he finally answered.

Her brows furrowed in slight confusion and she looked at him; was he really so certain that she and Bilbo would agree to go on such a mission…? Especially after hearing about the dragon and the high chance of being incinerated! No fourteenth-share of any treasure could be worth their lives.

Despite the dangers, though, she had to admit it _did_ sound tempting. Though a Baggins she may have been, she had always wanted to go out and see at least a _little_ bit of the world before settling down to start a family. And when would she ever get the chance to leave the Shire and see the world like this again?

‘Never,’ she told herself. ‘An opportunity like this is a once in a lifetime occurrence…and the fact it’s happening for me is purely coincidental, given that Gandalf had no idea I even existed.’

“What will her duties be?” Balin’s voice drew her from her thoughts once more.

“That is a good question.” Thorin looked at Baylee once more. “Mouse-lass, what skills do you have aside from sneaking around?”

Her cheeks grew a bit warm. “…I-I’m fairly decent at foraging for herbs and wild edibles,” she told him, “and cooking, but any hobbit worth their salt is good at cooking.” She looked back into her bowl, biting her lower lip as she thought. “I…also have a good memory.”

“I don’t suppose you have a weapon of choice?” Both he and Balin nearly laughed at the very mention of a weapon.

“No, but I’d be willing to learn.”

That made them pause and Balin looked up from his writing. “You’d be willing to learn?” he repeated. He hadn’t expected that sort of response from a hobbit of all creatures.

She nodded, having taken a bite of soup. After swallowing, she said, “This quest sounds dangerous. _If_ da’ and I agree to go, it’d make sense for us to learn how to defend ourselves, right?”

“Lassie, I’m not sure there’s a weapon in Middle Earth small enough for you to handle,” Balin chuckled, “but you are talking sense and that’s good to hear. Perhaps we’ll find _something_ small enough to make do for you to learn while we’re on our journey.”

Her cheeks turned a bit pinker as she nodded again.

“Put her duties down as foraging, sneaking, and spying,” Thorin told Balin. “No doubt, we’ll have a need for gathering information on this journey.” He ate a bit more soup and listened to the scratching of Balin’s quill as it quickly scrawled across the paper. “How did you get to be so good at not being seen?”

She was quiet for a long moment as she tried to formulate some sort of answer. She could recall many instances in her life where she had accidentally snuck up on someone without even trying—many of them being when she was within their range of sight and walking right towards them. “I really can’t tell you,” she finally answered, “because I don’t even know myself.”

“Perhaps it’s your size. You are, after all, no bigger than a field mouse,” Thorin chuckled.

Her lips pursed in a small pout. “I’m not _that_ small,” she murmured. “I’m just an inch or two shorter than the average adult hobbit.”

Both dwarves quietly snickered at that comment.

“And what of her share of the treasure?” Balin asked, a bit of laughter in his voice.

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but Baylee spoke first. “I don’t need a share,” she said. “ _If_ da’ agrees to this, then his share would be more than enough for the both of us.” Glancing over, she saw them giving her a strange look. “By hobbit standards, we’re already quite wealthy. People are already convinced that we’ve got treasure hidden away in some secret room—which we don’t, mind you—and if we suddenly acquired two shares of a dragon’s hoard…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to think of how impossible it’d be to get Lobelia and Otho to stop harassing da’.” 

“Miss Baggins?” Gandalf suddenly appeared in the archway behind Thorin. “Your father has finally awoken. Would you mind fetching him a spot of tea?”

Nodding, Baylee rose from her seat. ‘At least I got half my soup eaten,’ she thought to herself. As she went into the kitchen, she grabbed a clay mug from the cabinet as well as a teapot. ‘Something’s telling me that da’ isn’t going to want anything more to do with the dwarves’ quest. But…while it sounds dangerous, it also sounds so interesting…’

She shook her head and sighed, putting some tea leaves into the teapot. “That’s your Took talking again, Baylee,” she quietly scolded herself. She grabbed the kettle, intending to fill the teapot. “Yes, a chance like this will never come up again, but you’re a Baggins of Bag End.” Setting the kettle down, she bit her lower lip and closed her eyes for a moment. “We Bagginses are very well thought of.” It was a phrase her father had often told her when she was a child and had earned a scolding for misbehaving.

Opening her eyes again, she finished filling the pot with hot water. Setting it, the empty mug, a tea strainer, and a small container of sugar onto a tray, she carried it all to the parlor.

“…When did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you?” Gandalf was saying as she walked in. “I remember a young hobbit who always was running off in search of elves in the woods; who’d stay out late and come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies.” He glanced over at the younger hobbit as she set the tray down, pouring her father some tea. “A young hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire. The world is not in your books and maps—it’s out _there_.”

“I can’t just go running off into the blue,” Bilbo argued. He looked up as Baylee handed him the mug. “Thank you, dear.” He gratefully took the mug from her, letting its warmth seep into his palms. “You seem to be holding up well.”

“Looks are deceiving,” she replied with a small chuckle. “How’s your head? Do I need to fetch you some medicine?”

He shook his head. “No, no…I’ll be fine. I just need a moment of peace.”

“There is one more thing I must ask of you, though, Miss Baggins,” Gandalf said. “Would you make sure there are enough beds for the fourteen of us? We’ll be wanting an early start, so we’ll be turning in soon.”

She nodded. “Yes, I can do that.” She then looked at Bilbo. “If you need anything, da’, just holler.” Leaning over, she kissed the top of his head before leaving the room.

“You’ve had enough peace, Bilbo,” Gandalf said as she walked away.

“I am a Baggins of Bag End _and_ I am a father…”

Baylee made her way through the house, inspecting all of the guest rooms. While they had many—ten, in fact—there were still too many guests for the number of beds. She made many trips to the linen closet, using every spare pillow and blanket they owned to make up an extra four beds. On one of her trips to the closet, she was just in time to see Bilbo hurry into his bedroom and close the door.

By the time she had finished, the dwarves had all gathered in the parlor. Many of them had their pipes out, their smoke filling the small space with a variety of different scents. She approached the archway, having fully intended to let them know their rooms were ready.

Instead, though, she paused in her steps; the dwarves were humming. She watched as Thorin moved to stand near the fireplace, his eyes fixed on the flames. Then, to her great surprise, he started to sing.

_“Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To seek our pale enchanted gold_

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells_

_While hammers fell like ringing bells_

_In places deep, where dark things sleep_

_In hollow halls beneath the fells”_

His voice was deep and melodic; she had never heard a voice so deep. The combination of the humming, Thorin’s voice, and the spicy scents of the dwarves’ tobacco made her head start feeling light for some reason; she found herself having to lean against the wall to stay upright. As she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, Bofur’s voice joined Thorin’s in perfect harmony.

_“For ancient king and elvish lord_

_There many a gleaming golden hoard_

_They shaped and wrought, and light they caught_

_To hide in gems on hilt of sword_

_On silver necklaces they strung_

_The flowering stars, on crowns they hung_

_The dragon-fire, on twisted wire_

_They meshed the light of moon and sun_

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away, ere break of day_

_To claim our long-forgotten gold_

_Goblet they carved there for themselves_

_And harps of gold, where no man delves_

_There lay they long, and many a song_

_Was sun unheard by men or elves_

_The pines were roaring on the height_

_The winds were moaning in the night_

_The fire was red, it flaming spread_

_The trees like torches blazed with light_

_The bells were ringing in the dale_

_And men looked up with faces pale_

_The dragon’s ire, more fierce than fire_

_Laid low their towers and houses frail_

_The mountain smoked beneath the moon_

_The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom_

_They fled the hall to dying fall_

_Beneath his feet, beneath the moon_

_Far over the Misty Mountains grim_

_To dungeons deep and caverns dim_

_We must away, ere break of day_

_To win our harps and gold from him!”_

Gradually, the others had begun to sing as well, their voices also almost in perfect harmony with Thorin’s. Their song filled Baylee with a want—no, a _need_ —to see the mountains and the forests of the wider world. Her heart ached at the thought of getting to explore deep, dark caves; of getting to experience the cultures of different peoples. She _needed_ to see what kind of world there was outside of the Shire.

Even if it was just this once.

As she opened her eyes, she found that the dwarves were still focused on the hearth, watching the flames dancing about. Standing upright once more, she cleared her throat so as to not disturb the group _too_ much.

“M-Master Balin, sir?” After hearing their song, her voice sounded small and quiet and it didn’t help when all thirteen dwarves turned to look at her.

Though Balin gave her a kind smile, she could see defeat and sorrow in his eyes. “What is it, Miss Baggins?” he questioned.

“…Is that contract ready to sign?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello all! I just want to say thank you for the comments you've been leaving and the faves/follows that this has been getting! I also want to give a heads up that I have an instagram account where you can find random doodles and illustrations from both this story and 'Azying' as well as various other fandoms. My username is art . by . moosie (remove the spaces) if you're interested :)

Sleep did not come easy to the hobbit lass that night.

After showing the dwarves and Gandalf to their rooms, she had gone to bed herself only to spend most of the night tossing and turning. It had taken nearly two hours for her to finally drift off to sleep, but even then, her sleep was restless: Visions of distant lands and strange cities filled her slumbering mind, but always at the heart of the dreams was a single mountain, standing impossibly tall and terrifyingly foreboding.

* * *

When she awoke, the sun had not yet risen. She let herself lay in bed for some minutes as she tried to remember if the unexpected party last night had just been a creation of her dreams or if it had actually happened. Biting her lower lip, she got up and went over to the wall, pressing her ear against the cool plaster. In the next room over—a guest room—she could faintly hear the sound of snoring.

‘It wasn’t a dream then,’ she thought, pulling away and rubbing her face. She lit the oil lamp on her bedside table, filling the room with a soft, warm glow. ‘And I really did sign that contract. Oh dear…da’ is going to be three kinds of upset with me.’ She shook her head and sighed.

“It’s too late now,” she murmured. “Now…What does one wear when going on a quest?” As she went over to her wardrobe to sort through her clothes, she could hear the voice of her best friend, Primrose Lightfoot, scolding her in the back of her mind.

 _“Baylee Baggins, you are a lady and ladies do_ not _partake in adventures! Especially ones where the company, save yourself, is comprised_ entirely _of males!”_

She quietly laughed to herself. ‘Sorry, Prim…Maybe I’ll bring you back some shiny trinket or a foreign book of romance.’

Sorting through her dresses, she found herself almost tempted to sneak into Bilbo’s room and steal a pair of his trousers and one of his shirts. But she knew it would take too much time to sew them so that they fit her. Grabbing one of her dresses, she looked it over to see if it would work for traveling in. While there was nothing particularly outstanding about the dress, it did have one hidden and useful feature: There were pockets sewn into the skirt— _large_ pockets.

‘This is my only dress with pockets, so I suppose it’ll be the one,’ she thought with a small smile. Leaving it on her bed for now, she then went to a chest of drawers where she pulled out a fresh set of undergarments, including a corset and a set of petticoats. Before putting them on, however, she glanced back at the drawer that contained her bloomers and undershirts. Most of them were white, though she had a few that were dark green or brown. ‘It might be best to have darker colored underthings…’ Switching out the white ones she held for the green set, she then went to change into them.

“There,” she murmured after some minutes. Brushing her skirt into place, she went over and looked at herself in the mirror. By all means, she looked dressed for a completely normal day—except her hair, which she had yet to brush. “I know it’s not the most quest-appropriate attire, but it’ll have to do.”

After brushing her hair and braiding it into two pigtails, she began gathering up things to take with her on the trip. Though she hadn’t done much traveling prior, she did have a rather good quality pack that Bilbo had bought her when they last went to visit relatives in Tuckborough. It still had many of the camping supplies they had used on that trip, including a bedroll, a tin box of matches and tinder, an oilskin pouch, and a set of eating utensils. To the supplies, she added a change of underclothes, a coat in case it got cold, her comb, a few handkerchiefs, her tobacco pouch, and her pipe.

‘Now all that’s left is the food,’ she thought. She then frowned. ‘Which…we don’t have much left that would be good for traveling with. Thorin mentioned wanting to leave by eleven—perhaps I’ll be able to stop by the butcher’s and the bakery before then?’

Opening the drawer of her nightstand, she pulled out her coin purse. It felt decently heavy, giving her more confidence that she’d be able to buy some supplies before they left; she slipped it into one of her hidden pockets. Then, slinging her pack over her shoulder and grabbing her lamp, she quietly slipped out of her room.

As she walked through the halls, she looked around, taking time to properly memorize the way everything looked and exactly where it sat. Her stomach churned as she thought about how this could, possibly, be the last time she ever saw her home again. She quickly scolded herself for having such a dark thought.

‘I should, most definitely, have a bite to eat,’ she silently told herself. ‘I didn’t get much last night and I’m fairly certain dwarves don’t have the extensive meal schedule we hobbits do.’ Setting the lamp down on the kitchen table—which she had cleared off of all the dishes the previous night—she got to work stirring the coals of the stove, seeing if any were left from last night. Glad to see that there were a few small embers, she gathered them up before building the fire anew.

‘I wonder if I should cook anything for the dwarves…? Not that I’d know what they’d want for breakfast. No doubt the rest of the pantry…’ Shaking her head, she got a small pot and filled it with a bit of water. She set it on the grate so it could heat up before fetching her waterskin from the very back of the pantry. ‘Da’s is here, too…Should I fill it for him? …But is he even coming with us?’

Just in case, however, she grabbed it, too, and headed for the kitchen.

But before she could leave the pantry, she was greeted by the silhouette of one of the dwarves in the kitchen. As he turned towards the sink, she caught a glimpse of golden hair in the lamp light—Fili. Not wanting to startle him too bad, she cleared her throat.

“Good morning,” she then said.

He looked up from pushing down on the pump. “Ah, good morning, Miss Baggins!” he said with a grin. “You’re up early.”

“As are you.” She waited for him to finish filling his cup with water before she went to fill the two skins.

He chuckled as he took a drink. “Aye. The excitement kept me from sleepin’,” he admitted. “I take it the same could be said for you?”

She nodded. “I got a few hours of sleep, luckily, but by the end of the day, I’m sure I’ll be wishing I had gotten more.”

“I’m sure most of us will be feeling the same.” He watched as she set the two waterskins on the table before lifting the lid of a large crock and, having to stand on her tiptoes, reached inside. She pulled out a scoop of…something, adding it into the now-boiling pot of water over the grate. “What’re you making?”

“A spot of porridge.”

“Just porridge?” His brow rose; he normally had porridge as a starter to breakfast.

“Yes. I’m afraid I’m not very hungry this morning.”

At that, he let out a small chuckle. “Is that so? I was told that hobbits have nine or ten meals a day due to always being hungry!” He leaned against the wall, still watching her.

Baylee couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles. “We have _seven_ meals,” she corrected, “and we don’t always have _all_ of them. In fact, the seven-meal day is usually more common among upper-class hobbits since they don’t have to do much manual labor.”

“Huh…I suppose that makes sense. More free time on your hands that way.” He took another drink of water. “Does your father know you’re coming with us, by the way?”

She bit her lower lip. “Not…exactly…” she admitted, feeling her cheeks start to grow warm. “I went to tell him last night, but he had already fallen asleep. He’s not used to this sort of commotion.”

“Which is strange. When Gandalf told us about the meeting, he assured us that Bilbo was a most adventurous hobbit with a love for the unknown.” He chuckled as she tried to reach a jar on a shelf that was _just_ out of her reach. Before she could grab her stool, though, he walked over and plucked the jar from the shelf for her.

“Thank you,” she said, cheeks growing a bit warm. As she opened the jar, Fili could see that it contained honey. Using the dipper, she drizzled some into the pot of porridge. “You can blame me for my da’s lack of adventurous enthusiasm,” she then explained. “Once I was born, he became a bit of a protective worrywart.”

“Sounds like Dori,” he snickered. “You haven’t seen it yet, but once we’re out on the road, you’ll witness just how much he mothers Ori. He tries to mother Nori, too, but Nori won’t stand for it.”

“Would I be correct in guessing that those of you with similar-sounding names are related then?” she asked. “I know Balin and Dwalin are brothers…”

He nodded. “Aye, that you would. Oin and Gloin; Dori, Nori, and Ori; Bofur and Bombur; and me and Kili are sets of brothers. Bifur is cousin to Bofur and Bombur while Kili and I are Thorin’s nephews.”

At that, she paused. “You two are his _nephews_?” They acted so different from Thorin, she would have never guessed.

“Aye. Though, Kili’s got more of the family resemblance. I take after our father.” He watched her pull the pot off the heat before going to grab a bowl from the cupboard.

“That makes sense. I apparently look more like my mother, though I’ve got my da’s nose and jaw.” she chuckled. Returning to the stove, she poured the porridge into her bowl. “This has to cool down a fair bit before I can eat it. Would you like me to make you anything…?”

He thought for a moment. “Hmm…Would frying a few sausages and eggs be asking too much?”

“Not at all. I usually make that for da’s breakfast,” she chuckled. It was a bit strange to her how, just last night, he had been walking on tables, kicking dishware, and chugging ale and now he was being quite polite and staying off the furniture. ‘Part of me wonders if Gandalf told them all to be on their worse behavior,’ she thought, heading across the hall.

When she returned to the kitchen with eggs and sausages, Fili was refilling his cup with water. There was movement behind them and, looking over her shoulder, she saw Kili step into the kitchen while yawing.

“There you are, Fi,” he said through a second yawn. “Was wonderin’ where you got off to.” He gave his brother a sleepy smile before seeing Baylee at the stove. “Good mornin’, Miss Baggins. Ooh, are you making breakfast, then? You’ll need a couple dozen more eggs an’ sausages than that for all of us.”

“Don’t be a knucklehead,” Fili scolded. “She offered to cook me some food while her own breakfast cools down.”

“I could make you some, too, if you’d like,” she offered. Though she wasn’t sure _why_ she offered—something told her that if she made food for these two, she’d have to make food for the other eleven…And that would cut into her time buying supplies.

Kili grinned broadly. “I’d really appreciate that, Miss Baggins. And if you need any help, Fi and I could be of assistance.”

“I should be able to manage,” she smiled, “but I’ll let you know if I do need something.” Internally, she was praying that the others would remain asleep for some time yet. “Also, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘Miss Baggins’. You can call me Baylee if you’d like.” Using a knife, she started to separate the links of sausage into individual portions.

The brothers moved to sit at the kitchen table, staying out of her way. All three were quiet for a bit, the only sounds heard being that of her cooking and the muted snoring of some of the other dwarves.

Once the sausages were frying away in the pan, Kili spoke up. “So, do you have everything you’ll need packed?” he questioned. Getting up, he moved to get himself a cup of water.

“Almost, though I’ll have to stop by the market before we leave.” She grabbed a spoon so she could eat some of her porridge. “I’m afraid I have nothing in the way of food at the moment. At least, nothing that’s fit for traveling.” As she tasted her breakfast, she found that it was a bit bland; getting a pinch of salt, she stirred it around and tasted it again. Better.

“I suggest getting more hard breads and dried fruits than meats,” Fili told her. “Kili and uncle are pretty good when it comes to hunting, so we’ll have a good supply of fresh meat.”

“Though still get some,” Kili added. “It’ll be useful on those nights when we don’t get fresh meat.” He returned to his seat and took a drink of his water.

“What other supplies do you have?” Fili questioned.

She turned slightly, grabbing the wooden handle of the frying pan to give it a shake. “A bedroll, a cloak, a tin of matches and tinder, an oilcloth bag, and eating utensils. I also added in my pipe and tobacco as well as some spare clothes and handkerchiefs.”

The brothers did their best to bite back a laugh. “Handkerchiefs?” Kili repeated, the amusement all too obvious in his voice.

A small pout came to her lips. “You never know when the need will arise for a handkerchief,” she replied. “They’re useful for more things than just blowing your nose.” She looked over at the window, seeing that the sky had grown much lighter since she first woke up.

“I supposed they’d make useful bandages…or napkins,” Fili chuckled.

“Or for wiping the blood off your face after a fight,” Kili added. “Though, I doubt Miss Baylee here will do much fighting—no offense meant of course.”

“None taken. I’d actually prefer to hide rather than to fight anyway.” She rubbed looked down into her bowl. “Though, I did tell Master Balin and your uncle that I’d be willing to learn…” She was surprised to find she had already eaten half the bowl; she must’ve been hungrier than she thought.

Once more, Kili found himself holding back a fit of laughter. Fili, though, raised his brow and a small grin came to his lips.

“Actually, with your sneaking skills—”

“They’re not _sneaking_ skills. It’s not my fault if no one notices me!”

“Sounds like sneaking to me,” Fili chuckled, watching as her cheeks turned red. “But, as I was saying, with those skills and a pair of knives, I think you’d be fairly decent at cutting some tendons.”

Her nose scrunched up at the thought of doing such a thing. She had helped break down a couple of pig and goat carcasses when she had gone to stay with family in Tuckborough, but that was the extent of her tendon-cutting experience. Reaching over, she gave the pan another little shake. “I’m not sure I’d be the best person for that kind of job. I just can’t picture myself hurting a living thing.”

“Oh, you’ll think differently when it’s an orc you’re looking at,” Kili assured her. “Fi and me thought the same as you when we first learned to fight. But believe me—orcs make it all too easy to shove a blade into their guts.” Standing up, he moved to fetch her a plate to put the sausages on.

“Well…I suppose I’ll find out in the future,” she said, though her tone was filled with uncertainty. She knew the trip would be fraught with dangers—why else had the contract contained so many different clauses in regards to manners of death?—but she didn’t think the dangers would be spoken of so casually.

‘Then again,’ she told herself, ‘outside the Shire, the world _is_ vastly different.’

As Kili handed her the plate, she thanked him and moved to put the sausages into it. Then, adding a large dollop of butter to the pan, she started to crack some eggs into it. She cracked them one-handedly, which seemed to leave the brothers in awe.

“I’ve never seen someone crack an egg with one hand,” Fili gawked. “How do you do that?”

She blinked, a little surprised by their reaction to such a mundane thing. “I’ve…never really thought about it, to be honest,” she admitted. Looking down at the egg in her hand, she frowned; _how_ did she do it?

Grabbing a small bowl, she carefully watched herself as she tried to crack the egg into it. Normally, the egg would be nicely split in half and the contents would plop down into the pan or bowl without any bits of shell. What happened this time, however, was she ended up completely smashing the egg in her hand. Fili and Kili snickered behind her.

Her nose scrunched up. “Well, I guess it’s just going to have to remain a secret,” she chuckled, moving to go rinse her hand off.

“Ah, I don’t think we’d be able to do it anyway,” Kili told her. He watched as she returned to the stove where she sprinkled some salt and pepper over the eggs. “While we can do quite delicate work with our hands, I think our fingers would be too big for cracking an egg like that.”

“Hm? Why’s that?” Picking up her spatula, she flipped over the eggs before taking the plate of sausage and, turning around, set it on the dining table.

Fili held his hand up so she could see it—while it looked to be of average size when it was closer to his body, now that he held it out, Baylee could see that it was _much_ larger than her own hand. His palm was wide and square in shape while his fingers were shorter and thicker than she expected.

“As you can see, our hands are a bit different than yours,” he told her, amusement in his voice. “Our hands are meant for working metal and stone.”

“And bashing in skulls,” Kili added. “While your hands…” He glanced down at her hands, which still held the platter of sausages only to snickered. “They’re just downright doll-like.”

Her cheeks grew warm yet again though she knew he was right—especially compared to their hands. “Well, I assure you, they’re not nearly as fragile as a doll’s hands.” She went to the cabinet and grabbed two plates. Taking them back to the stove, she carefully lifted the eggs out of the pan and placed them all onto one plate. Then, adding a bit more butter, she cracked more eggs into the pan.

“Depends on what the material the doll is made out of,” Fili joked. “Porcelain and cloth? Perhaps. But stone, wood, or metal…? I’d have to put my money on the doll.”

Sprinkling more salt and pepper, she felt her brow rise. “…There are dolls made of metal and stone?”

“For us dwarves, there are.” Kili wore the slightest frown as his brother got the first plate of eggs. “Stone and metal can be far more plentiful than cloth, wood, or porcelain when you live in the mountains.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Using the back of her hand, she covered her mouth as she yawned.

“Mmm…Somethin’ smells good.” The three looked over at the archway to find Nori stepping into the kitchen. Behind him followed Ori and Dwalin. “Is there any more where that came from?”

Baylee inwardly frowned. ‘Looks like I’m stuck making breakfast,’ she thought.

* * *

When ten o’clock rolled around, it found Baylee down the main road of Hobbiton—and she wasn’t the only one. Some of dwarves were there, too, buying last minute supplies of their own from vendors in the market. The rest, she knew, were either off fetching the ponies or having a last-minute mug of beer at the Green Dragon.

She had yet to see her father that morning.

As she headed towards the bakery, her stomach twisted and churned with nerves. Surely, she would have enough time to quickly run back to Bag End and say goodbye? Or maybe he was already awake and, upon finding that she wasn’t there, was instead furious with her and hoping to never see her again?

‘No,’ she told herself after that last thought. ‘No, da’ would never think such a thing. He’d be furious, yes, but not enough to never want to see me again…’

A bell rang as she opened the door and stepped into the bakery. She did her best to clear her mind of her worried thoughts as she looked around. A small smile came to her lips as she was surrounded by the scents of warm bread, spicy rolls, and sugary pastries.

“Ah, good mornin’ to you, Miss Baylee!” an older woman came out from the back room, a bit of flour stuck to her cheek and plenty on her apron. “What can I do for you this morning?” She brushed her apron off slightly, creating a little white cloud around herself.

“Good morning, Mrs. Chubb,” she replied. “I was wondering if you had anything that’d keep well while traveling?”

A thoughtful look came to her face. “Hmm…You know, I think Marigold actually made up some hard breads the other day,” she said. “Let me go check with her.” Before Baylee could say another word, the woman had disappeared into the backroom.

‘Oh, those cinnamon buns look scrumptious,’ she thought, walking over to the counter where a glass cake stand held a dozen or so rolls. ‘If my stomach was behaving better, I should like to have three or four…A shame they don’t keep well while traveling.’

The swishing of skirts drew her attention away from the rolls and over to Mrs. Chubb in time to see her set a small crate down. “Here you go, dear,” she chirped. “All of these were thrice baked just four days ago. Marigold says the ones with the green ribbon are more on the savory side while the red ribbon ones are sweeter.”

Walking over, she peered down into the box to find hard breads of all sizes and shapes. “Hmm…I wonder how much I’ll need,” she thought aloud.

“That depends on how far and how long you’ll be gone for, now wouldn’t it?” Mrs. Chubb smiled, her brow rising as she watched the younger hobbit pull out a bundle of the savory bread.

“Well, you see, I’m not sure of either,” Baylee admitted as she pulled out an extra two bundles. “I’m…going on a trip that’s going to take me rather far from home and I’m not sure just _how_ long I’ll be gone.” She knew better than to say she was leaving the Shire—not only would it possibly stir up some nasty rumors, but it could also tarnish the family name.

She already nearly did that once. She didn’t want it to happen again.

“Hm. That does make it tough to decide,” Mrs. Chubb frowned. “Hard breads tend to be used more of a last-resort ration or to pad out thin meals, so you usually don’t need as much as you think.”

Looking at the three bundles she had already pulled out, she did a quick count. Each one had twelve pieces of hard bread that were slightly bigger than the size of her hand. That surely had to be enough…right?

“Then I think I’ll take these three,” she said after another moment of debate. “How much will that be?”

“Three copper pennies, dear.”

“Just three?” she questioned, her brow rising slightly.

Mrs. Chubb nodded with a small laugh. “Hardtack is the simplest item to make, dear. It takes almost no work, so to charge anything more would practically be theft!” Shaking her head, she chuckled as she took the three pennies from the lass who unshouldered her pack. “My, my, dear—it really does look like you plan on being gone a while!”

Baylee’s cheeks flushed somewhat. “Some months, I’d wager.” Undoing the buckle on her bag, she loosened the drawstring and carefully tucked the bundles of hardtack away.

“And where is it you’ll be going, dear?”

“Oh, just—just _around_.” She forced a smile as she looked up at the older woman. It wasn’t quite a lie, but she certainly felt like she was telling a big fib. “I thought I’d take a few months to do some exploring—you know, have my fun before I start thinking about finding myself a lad and settling down.”

At that, an understanding look came to Mrs. Chubb’s face. “Ahh, yes, I understand _completely_ ,” she laughed. “A good thing you’re doing this, then. Your future husband will thank you for it, trust me.”

Her brow rose. “Why is that?” Closing her pack back up, she stood upright once more.

“Because then you won’t be asking him to join you on your travels through the countryside,” she explained. “Unless, of course, you marry a Took or a Brandybuck. _They_ enjoy such things.” She watched as Baylee put her pack on once more and started to head for the door. “Well, fair ventures to you, Miss Baylee! I hope you enjoy your trip.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Chubb. And thank you again for the hard bread!” She gave the woman a small wave before stepping back out into the morning air. Taking a deep breath, she went back into the street. “Now, to the butcher’s shop,” she murmured.

Her stomach started to flutter anew—this time, however, it was a different sort of nerves that did it. Biting her lower lip, she walked through the market; she could see Gloin and Oin haggling with Mr. Lightfoot for some of his smoked fish. To her left, Bombur was buying up plenty of carrots and potatoes from Farmer Longholes.

Before she realized it, she was standing in front of the butcher’s shop and she swallowed hard. Peeking in through the window, she saw Halfast bringing down an entire rope of sausage from a hook. From where she stood, she wasn’t able to see who he was serving, though.

Giving herself a mental pep talk, she forced herself to walk forward and into the shop, hearing another little bell ring as the door pushed past it. To her surprise, she found Fili and Kili standing at the counter, an assortment of meats laid out before them.

“Be with you in just a—” Halfast started to say, but when he saw who it was, he almost dropped the rope of sausage in surprise. “M-m-miss Baylee! You’re in awfully early!”

Fili and Kili grinned down at her as she stepped towards the counter. “We thought you would’ve been by here already,” Fili told her before she could speak. “Good thing we didn’t buy out _all_ the jerky.”

“O-Oh, you three know one another?” Halfast asked, glancing between the hobbit and the dwarves. He set the rope of sausages onto the counter along with all the other meat the dwarves were buying.

Baylee felt her cheeks starting to grow hot. “W-we met last night,” she explained. “It-it—it’s a bit of a long story, really—”

“Long?” Kili snorted. “We had dinner at your place and you agreed to come on a quest with us! That’s not long at all.”

“A quest?” Halfast gawked, his blush leaving his face. In fact, most of the color drained away, leaving him quite pale.

“Mhm. Over the Misty Mountains, to the Lonely Mountain,” Kili continued, oblivious to how flustered Baylee had become. “Might fight some orcs, kill a dragon…Heroic stuff, really. Miss Baggins here might even get to kill an orc or two!”

Fili, on the other hand, _did_ notice how red she had become. Clearing his throat, he laid a single gold coin on the counter. “Ki, we need get back to the others,” he declared. “Uncle will be wanting our help with the ponies soon enough.” He pushed a large sack into his brother’s hands before filling it up with the meat.

Halfast, still pale and quite clearly in shock, picked up the gold coin and stared at it. “I-I’m afraid we don’t have change for this just yet, m-master dwarf,” he stammered. “It’s st-still a bit early in the day…”

Fili dismissively waved his hand. “Whatever’s left, use it for Miss Baggins’ purchase.” Before anything further could be said, he was dragging Kili out of the shop.

Baylee, who had closed her eyes and started wishing for nothing more than to disappear, let out a small sigh. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to find Halfast rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re really goin’ on a quest, then?” he asked after an awkward moment of silence. “With a bunch of dwarves?”

Biting her lower lip, she nodded. “I am.” Her voice was small. “Th-there’s a chance da’ might be coming along, too…a slim chance, but one nonetheless.” She shifted slightly, finding herself unable to look at him.

He nodded slowly and rubbed the back of his neck. “…D-do you know how long you’ll be gone for, then?”

She shook her head. “No idea, to be honest…I’m-I’m not even sure how far it is that we’ll be going.”

“…You-you’ll need a fair bit of jerky then. And probably some salt pork!” To her surprise, he started to sound rather excited. “Have you stopped by Mrs. Chubb’s yet to get hardtack?”

Her brows furrowed slightly and she looked up to find him digging through a crate on the back counter. “I just came from there, actually.”

“And you’ve got plenty of supplies? A bedroll, canteen, tinderbox—those sorts of things?” He pulled a bag from the crate before rifling through it some more.

“Y-yes. Even a spare coat if things get cold.” She was confused—why did he sound so _happy_? Most hobbits would be appalled to learn she was leaving the nice, peaceful Shire to go adventuring with a troupe of dwarves!

“You’ll be going through the mountains; it _will_ get cold,” he laughed. He pulled out a couple more bags before moving them to the counter in front of her. “Be right back.” He darted into the backroom and Baylee could hear him shoving things aside and with little regard as to where he was shoving them. She jumped when there was a loud crash, but couldn’t help but quietly giggle when he called back, “Nothing broke!”

‘This…certainly isn’t the kind of reaction I expected from him,’ she told herself. She bit her lower lip again. ‘Unless he’s excited that he’ll be rid of me for quite some time…’

Halfast burst back into the room, a triumphant grin on his lips as he set down two large, paper-wrapped slabs of salt pork as well as an oilskin bag. “If those dwarves hunt, then between the fresh meat and this stuff, you’ll be good to go for quite a while, Miss Baylee,” he told her. He opened all of the bags before pouring their contents into the larger, oilskin bag. “I know cherrywood’s your favorite, so I did my best to get you all of the jerky smoked with it.”

Just when she thought her cheeks could cool down a bit, they grew warm once more. “Th-thank you,” she said, surprised he’d do such a thing. “…H-Halfast?”

“Yes, Miss Baylee?” He glanced over at her as he tied the bag shut. “Can I see your bag, by the way?”

“May…may I ask why you’re so excited all of a sudden?” Part of her was scared to hear the answer. Unshouldering her bag, she set it on the counter for him.

His head tilted ever so slightly, his grin remaining in place. “How often is it that a hobbit gets to go on an adventure with a bunch of dwarves?” He made quick work of opening her pack and tucking the slabs of pork and the pouch of jerky away. “I’ve been wanting to explore outside the Shire my whole life, but my ol’ man will hardly let me go visit fam in Tuckborough by myself!” After closing her pack back up, he came around the counter and grabbed the bag. “At least one of us Took-bloods gets to do something exciting.”

“To be honest, I’m fairly certain my da’ wishes I’d be staying in the Shire,” she told him. She turned around, letting him help her put the pack back on; it weighed a good deal more now that the salt pork had been added to it. “I just hope he’s not too upset with me about all of this…”

“You’re his daughter, Miss Baylee. He can’t stay mad at you even if he wanted to.” As she turned around to face him once more, he rubbed the back of his neck. His smile had turned from enthusiastic to shy once more. “…Wh-when you come back, do you think could you tell me about it? Your adventure, I mean. I-I’d really like to hear about it.”

Baylee nodded, a smile on her lips. “Of course I will,” she told him. “…If I…If I come back while the weather’s still fair, maybe I could tell you while we have a little picnic?”

His eyes widened and his cheeks turned bright red, but his smile seemed to double in size. “I’d-I’d really like that, actually,” he told her, rubbing the back of his neck a second time.

Feeling a bit emboldened by this pleasant turn of events, she took a step forward and, rising onto her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “Then it’s a deal,” she told him, her voice a touch on the quiet a side and her cheeks growing quite hot. “When I come back, I promise we’ll have a picnic and I’ll do my best to tell you everything I remember.” She glanced past him at the clock. Ten thirty. “I…should probably get going. We’re supposed to—”

Halfast unexpectedly silenced her in quite a bold fashion: Leaning forward, he cupped her cheek in his palm before pressing his lips against hers. Baylee’s eyes widened in shock only to quickly fall shut as she kissed him in return; her whole being suddenly felt lighter than air.

He slightly drew back after a moment, his gaze locking with hers. “Stay safe, alright?” he whispered. “I know you can’t make any promises…”

“I’ll do my best,” she replied, her voice just as soft. Her heart fluttered as he kissed her a second time, though this one was shorter than the first.

“Goodbye, Miss Baylee,” he murmured, using a great deal of willpower to move his hand from her cheek. “I’ll see you when you come home.” A shy smile came to his lips. “I might even beat Miss Primrose to greeting you.”

Her cheeks flushed and she let out a small laugh. “I’m sure you will; you’re taller than her.” Feeling quite reluctant to do so, she turned away from him and headed towards the door. Before leaving, though, she looked back over at him, giving him a small, shy wave.

Making her way back towards the Green Dragon, she found herself still feeling as if she were walking on clouds. ‘Never in a million years would I have expected that to happen,’ she thought, doing her best to keep a normal pace instead of skipping like she wanted to do. ‘Halfast has always been so shy—sometimes, shyer than me! I don’t know what made him grow so brave back there, but I most certainly didn’t mind it…Oh, if only I had time to go tell Prim!’

She quietly giggled to herself as she pictured Primrose demanding every little detail about how the kiss came to be.

Coming around the corner, she saw a lineup of fifteen ponies and one horse standing in front of the Green Dragon. Her head tilted slightly in curiosity; she had seen ponies before, but always from afar. As she drew closer, she saw that they were bigger than she expected—but not nearly as big as the horse standing at the end of the line.

‘I suppose that one’s for Gandalf,’ she thought. ‘The rest of us are too small to get our feet even close to the…stirrup, I think they’re called?’

“Ah, there ya are, Miss Baggins!” She looked over in time to see Bofur coming out of the inn, a bit of beer foam still clinging to his upper lip and mustache. “We were startin’ to wonder if you’d run off an’ hid so you—” He paused when he noticed how red her cheeks were. “Are you feelin’ alright?”

“I feel perfectly fine,” she replied, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“Your face is as red as a tomato,” he chuckled.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly and she cleared her throat. “Is-is it? I hadn’t noticed. You’ve a bit of foam on your lip, by the way.”

He blinked and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Seeing the residue of the beer foam soaking into the fabric, he chuckled. “Ah, so I did! Thanks for tellin’ me, lass.” He then looked over his shoulder at the building. “The beer here is pretty good—doesn’t quite compare to dwarvish ale, but it certainly hits the spot. We’ve still got a little bit of time left before we leave; you might want t’ get yourself a drink.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” she replied. “I was actually hoping I could head back home to say goodbye to da’, since it doesn’t seem like he’ll be coming along…but I don’t think there’ll be enough time.” She quietly sighed, glancing towards Bag End; though it was a little speck from where she stood, she could have sworn she saw the door open. Quickly telling herself not to get her hopes up, she looked back at the inn to see Fili and Kili stepping out with Thorin and Balin.

“See, Bofur? I _told_ you she hadn’t run off!” Fili grinned. He then looked at the hobbit. “Did you get everything you needed from the butcher’s?”

She nodded. “I did. I also got hardtack from the bakery like you recommended.” From the corner of her eye, she watched as Thorin went over to a brown pony with a black mane and tail.

“Ah, I _knew_ there was something we forgot to ask you about,” Kili chuckled. “We were going to ask you where the bakery’s located—we were hoping to get a couple of pastries for the road.”

“Oh, it’s quite close to us, actually,” she told him. “Follow the road back towards the market and look for the bright pink door. You might want to hurry, though: It’s nearing elevensies and Mrs. Chubb likes to close up a bit early.”

“Thank you, Miss Baylee!” Wearing matching grins, the brothers looked over at Thorin. “Do you want anything, uncle?” Fili questioned.

Thorin looked over his shoulder at them, his brow raised. “Surprise me,” was all he said before turning back to his work of arranging the contents of the saddlebags. As he moved, Baylee could see the head of a strange, pointed ax poking out from under one of the bags.

In fact, as she looked at the other ponies, she could see more weapons tucked amongst the bags and parcels. One pony had a mace, another a boar spear, yet another had a mattock…They were practically a traveling armory!

“Miss Baggins?” She was drawn from her thoughts by Balin. “The smallest pony—that strawberry roan down there—is yours. I’m afraid she’s the smallest we’ve got. I hope she’ll be alright.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” she replied, smiling. “Thank you.” She walked down the line of ponies until she reached the little mare. Despite being the smallest, she still seemed rather large to Baylee, who held her hand out so the mare could sniff it. “You’ve got such a pretty coat,” she murmured, though her words were somewhat shaky. She had never ridden a pony before—or, if she had, she couldn’t remember.

When the mare had given her approval, she reached out and stroked the side of the pony’s neck. ‘How do I go about getting my pack onto you in such a way that it won’t fall off?’ she thought, looking at the saddlebags. From what she could tell, they were already full of items and there were a couple of extra bags added into the mix. She unshouldered her own bag, though frowned. ‘Maybe I can use a bit of rope to tie it into place…except…I can barely reach your back…’

“Looks like we should have brought you a stool.” Gloin walked over, his brow raised as he looked down at her. “Here, lassie. Let me help ya.” Grabbing her pack for her, he slung it over the mare’s back and used a bit of rope to secure it into place.

“Th-thank you, Master Gloin,” she said, her cheeks turning a bit pink as he walked off to his own pony. A soft sigh left her mouth. “Now I’m wondering if I’m just going to be a bother,” she murmured to herself.

Watching the others as they readied their ponies and climbed on, she made sure to pay particular attention to how they were mounting the animals. If they were on the left side of the pony, they’d put their left foot in the stirrup and, holding onto the front of their saddles, pull themselves up before swinging their right leg over the animal’s back. It didn’t seem to be a terribly hard feat to accomplish.

‘Now to hope I don’t accidentally flash them my bloomers,’ she thought. She raised her foot up, just _barely_ able to slip it into the stirrup. With a little hop and a little grunt, she held onto the saddle and pulled herself up. It was a bit awkward swinging her leg over, given she was in a dress with some petticoats, but after a moment, she managed. She then took another moment to adjust her dress so that it wasn’t an obnoxious poof around her.

Only then, did a small, victorious laugh left her mouth as she felt rather proud of herself. “If only da’ could see me,” she murmured. Once more, she looked towards Bag End, a sinking feeling beginning to arise in her stomach. It quickly disappeared, however, as she saw a familiar face running towards the group.

“Da’!?” she squeaked, more than a little surprised to see her father.

“Wait!” Bilbo, red-faced and panting, came to a halt in front of the group, his hand clutching the contract. “I-I signed it!” Doubling over, he held onto his knees as he gasped for air; luckily, he didn’t faint this time. After a moment of catching his breath, he stood upright and held the contract out to Balin, who had ridden towards him.

Leaning over, the older dwarf took the contract from him and, bringing out a pocket-glass, carefully inspected it. “Everything appears to be in order,” he stated. Lowering the pocket-glass, he smiled at Bilbo. “Welcome, Master Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Get him a pony,” Thorin ordered, not sounding entirely impressed. He looked to his left as he heard running; Fili and Kili were racing towards the group, their arms laden with sweet pastries.

Bilbo quickly shook his head. “Oh, n-no, no, I assure you, that _won’t_ be necessary, thank you!” he stammered. “But I—I’m sure I can keep up on foot! I’ve done my fair share of walking holidays—just ask Baylee—” He then paused. Searching along the line for his daughter, he spotted her towards the very end. In a huff, he marched over to her. “And _you_ , young lady! You need to get down off that pony and return to Bag End right this moment!” He wagged a scolding finger at her.

“I can’t, da’,” she told him. “I signed a contract, just like you.”

His eyes bulged. “Y-y-you did what!?”

“Signed a contract,” she repeated, her gut starting to fill with guilt. “I can’t just very well up and abandon things when they’re not even started yet.” Biting her lower lip, she glanced away from him. She knew he was upset with her and for wholly understandable reasons, but she was officially the Company’s Mouse-Lass…And she had promised Halfast that she would come back with stories to tell him.

Bilbo’s lips were drawn back in a thin line and he put his hands on his hips in a fatherly fashion. After a moment, he let out a frustrated sigh and looked away. “Blasted Took blood,” he grumbled. “We’re supposed to be good, respectable hob—‘” He let out a small yelp as Bofur and Bifur road by on either side of him and, grabbing his arms, lifted him up off the ground. They carried him like that until they were by the final pony, where they plopped him down atop its back.


	5. Chapter 5

For seemingly the hundredth time in an hour, Bilbo sneezed.

He let out a quiet groan and sniffed in an attempt to keep his nose from running. He did his best to be subtle as he glanced around to see if anyone was watching him. When he saw that no one was, he discreetly wiped his nose on the inside of his jacket. What he didn’t know, however, was that someone _was_ looking.

“Here, da’.” Looking over, he saw Baylee holding out a folded handkerchief to him, an ‘I saw that’ expression on her face.

Bilbo’s cheeks turned a bit red. “You remembered to pack handkerchiefs?” he questioned, his voice sounding a bit nasally thanks to his congested sinuses. As he took the handkerchief, he gave her a thankful nod before blowing his nose. He sighed as some relief was finally brought to his nasal passages.

She watched him as he blew his nose again; they had been traveling for a few days and, now that they were nearing the borders of the Shire, her father’s hay fever was acting up. “Yes…I packed everything I normally do for when we take walking holidays, along with a few extra supplies at Fili and Kili’s recommendation.” She jumped slightly as her mare, who she had named Buttercup, gave her head a shake.

“I did see you had quite a bit of salt pork,” he replied, his voice a bit nasally. “Was that also their recommendation?” He was glad to be talking with her again; since leaving, they hadn’t said much to one another. It was mostly his fault, however, as he had been understandably frustrated with the situation. His only daughter coming with him and a throng of dwarves on an adventure would have upset any father worth his salt.

Baylee’s cheeks flushed. “N-No…that was actually Halfast’s idea.”

At that, his brow rose. “Halfast’s idea?” He blew his nose again before shoving the handkerchief into his pocket.

“I was originally going to get just a bit of jerky, but Fili and Kili were there when I stepped in and…well, Halfast found out I was going to be going on an adventure and said I’d need more than just jerky.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her face. “And just what was his reaction to finding out that you were leaving, hmm?”

Though part of her was thankful he was starting to tease her about her crush again, another part of her was embarrassed. “He was actually rather excited…said that he’s been wanting to go out on an adventure himself, but there’s no way his da’ would let him.”

“Well, after what happened to the poor lad’s mother, I can see why.” Looking back at the path ahead, he could see the backs of nearly every dwarf as well as Gandalf, who rode alongside Thorin. He and Baylee, meanwhile, took up the rear of the group. “Any other reasons why he was excited?”

“I…I promised I’d do my best to come back and tell him stories about the adventure.” She then cleared her throat, also focusing her gaze on the road ahead. “And then he kissed me goodbye. …Twice.” She felt her cheeks grow hot and she knew they had to have been as red as beets.

Bilbo’s eyes grew to the size of saucers and his head whipped around to look at her. “He did _what_!?” he cried, making Gloin and Dori turn to look at them with a bit of concern. “S-sorry, nothing’s wrong,” he quickly told them, an apologetic smile on his lips. Turning back to his daughter, he said, much more calmly this time, “He did _what_?”

“You heard me.”

“Actually, I _don’t_ think I did.” He did his best to make his voice sound disappointed, though he had never been the best of actors.

“Da’, _please_ ,” she groaned, eyes rolling. “I _know_ you heard me just fine.”

“I’m fairly certain I didn’t, young lady, because it sounded like you just told me Halfast Pott gave you _two_ goodbye kisses.”

Baylee groaned, leaning back against the bags piled up behind her, her hands releasing the reins in favor of covering her face. “Da’, you are _unbearable_ at times.”

“Oh, so I _did_ hear you correctly? Well, then, _clearly_ he’s not the one for one you, because if he was, he would have given you _three_ goodbye kisses.” He could hear Gloin snort; he wondered if dwarves had better hearing than they let on, because he certainly wasn’t being loud.

Baylee peeked out from behind her fingers. “Are you really going to tease me like this _now_ of all times?”

He gave her a bit of a smug, fatherly smile. “This is what you get for not staying home. You’re lucky I didn’t remember to grab that picture book your grandfather made—you know, the one with all the drawings your grandmother did of you as a baby? Including the one of you using a bowl of porridge as a hat?—otherwise, I’d be showing that off to all of the-the—” He gestured at the group before them. “Lads.”

“Then I’m doubly lucky that I hid that book in a spot you won’t be able to find it!” she pouted. She looked over at him again only to see a cheeky grin on his lips. Despite struggling to keep her pout in place, she soon burst into a fit of giggles.

His smile turned from cheeky to warm as he watched her giggle. “It’s good to hear you laugh again. At least, laughing because of me,” he told her. The dwarves had managed to make her laugh plenty often over the last few days. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a grump the past few days.”

“It’s understandable,” she told him, sitting upright once more. She shifted slightly, her nose scrunching up just a bit. Not being used to riding, her thighs and hindquarters were quite sore; Fili had told her it would eventually leave, but when she asked how long it would take, he had given her a vague answer of ‘a while’. “You’re my da’…it’s your job to worry about me.”

“Yes, but you’re also an adult—one who I’ve made sure to raise to be able to think for herself, mind you.” Feeling a sneeze coming on, he pulled out the handkerchief again. He sighed once the sneeze had passed and he had blown his nose. “I daresay it’s better you get this adventurousness out of your system now when you’re an unmarried lass than to do it when you’re older.”

She nodded in agreement, quietly laughing. “That’s what I was thinking…and with this seeming like it’s going to be quite a long journey, my adventurous spirit may be completely gone by the time we get home.”

“Hm. It better not be, because from the sound of it, Halfast may—”

“ _Shush._ ”

* * *

Late April faded into May, which, in turn, faded into mid-May. As the Company rode further and further away from the Shire, the lands became more wild and less hospitable. The lovely blue skies and warm sun of the Shire were gone; now the skies were mostly overcast. Temperatures couldn’t seem to make up their minds: One day it would be stifling, but the next, it’d be cool again.

‘It’s a good thing I wore one of my lighter dresses,’ Baylee thought to herself one evening as she rolled out her bedroll. It had been a warm day and everyone had been quite uncomfortable while in the saddle. ‘There are only so many layers you can remove while staying decent, after all…’

“Miss Baylee?” She looked up, watching as Bombur came waddling over, one of his smaller cooking pots in hand. “I was wondering if you’d be able to go out and forage us some mushrooms? And maybe a few herbs if you can find them?”

Standing up, she brushed off the front of her dress. “Yes, of course,” she replied with a smile. It was the first time she had been asked to do any sort of foraging, which was a nice change of pace. “If I can find any other edibles, would you like me to get those, too?”

“If there’s anything you deem tasty out there, that would be a welcome addition,” he replied, smiling. “I’m afraid I don’t really know what grows wild out here…” He then held out the cooking pot. “Here—to put the mushrooms in.”

Taking the pot, she nodded in understanding. “I’ll see what I can do. Let me just go tell da’ that I’m heading out first.” With the pot held out in front of her, she walked across their camp to where Bilbo was sitting and talking with Thorin and Gandalf.

He looked up at her as she approached; he seemed fairly relaxed and at ease. She quickly discovered why: He had his pipe in his hand and some smoke furling out of his mouth. Judging by the smell, it was Longbottom Leaf he was smoking. “Hello, dear. Do you need something?”

She shook her head. “No. Just came to let you know that Bombur asked me to go hunt down some mushrooms, so I may away for a bit.”

“Mushrooms?” Thorin repeated, some amusement in his voice. Baylee wondered if, perhaps, her father had shared some of his Longbottom Leaf with him; she hadn’t seen him this relaxed before. “An interesting way t’ test our Mouse-Lass’s seeking skills…But these lands are wild and dangerous.” Turning his head, he called out, “Fili. Go with the Mouse-Lass and see to it she doesn’t get herself hurt.”

She felt her cheeks grow just the _slightest_ bit warm at the implication that she would go off and somehow injure herself. She held her tongue, though, knowing that, despite her silent disagreement, it would be a good idea to have someone with her. As he had said, the lands were wild and dangerous; even with being as quiet as she could apparently be, there were things out there that could be even quieter.

Looking over at Fili, she watched as he grabbed his sword belt and slung it across his body before standing. He gave her a smile and used his head to motion for her to follow. As she did so, she could hear her father giving Thorin a lighthearted scolding about her having a name and that it wasn’t ‘Mouse-Lass’.

“So, why is it I’m accompanying you?” Fili asked when they were a dozen or so yards away from the camp.

“Bombur asked me to forage for some mushrooms and herbs,” she explained. As they walked, she kept her vision towards the ground, searching for anything that would be edible. So far, she was seeing plenty of clover and ferns, but no mushrooms yet.

Her gaze was suddenly brought back up as she felt the cooking pot leave her hands. “And he gave you this nice, heavy pot to carry them in,” Fili chuckled, giving the pot a little toss in the air. It did a full spin before falling back down to land in his hands.

“It’s not too heavy, really,” she assured him. “If I were going to be carrying water or stones in it, then, yes, maybe it’d be a burden.” She let her eyes fall back to the ground, narrowing them slightly.

“Well, that’s good to hear, but I’m still going to carry this for you.” His brow rose again as she let out a small ‘aha!’ and darted forward into the underbrush. “What did you find?”

“Some wild garlic mustard,” she replied, crouching down. Plucking the plant up by the handfuls, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “It’ll go well with the mushrooms.”

“I’ve never heard of a plant called garlic mustard. I’ve heard of garlic an’ mustard, though…”

“It’s a bit of a weed,” she told him. “It grows in a lot of places, so there’s a strong chance you’ve eaten it, but didn’t know it. It smells strongly of garlic, but its flavor is a mix of garlic and mustard, thus the name.” She gathered four or five handfuls of the leaves, using her skirt to hold them all as she stood up.

Fili blinked as he saw her stand up; she was a good four yards from where he thought she had been. “Do you have to cook the leaves before you eat them?” he asked. As she came over to him, he lowered the pot so that she could put the leaves into it.

“No. Why?”

His reply came in the form of him plucking up one of the leaves and popping it into his mouth. After a moment, his brows rose in pleasant surprise. “That’s quite good,” he said, still chewing. He started to follow her once more as she went back to searching for mushrooms. “I wouldn’t have expected a leaf to taste like that.”

“It’s really good in salads or in sauces. My grandmother used to make the _best_ sautéed mushrooms in a garlic mustard-based sauce,” she told him, smiling fondly at the memory. “Sometimes she’d add in some caramelized onions, too.” Up ahead, she could see a fallen log—a potentially good spot to find mushrooms.

“That does sound good,” he agreed, glancing around. “Just don’t tell Bombur about it or he’ll have you scouring out every mushroom and wild onion around here so you could make it for him.”

“That’d be mighty hard, considering wild onions won’t come into season for another month or two. Though, I might be able to find some wild leek…” Spotting another fallen log some yards off to her left, she grinned and hurried off towards it. From where she stood, she could see the bounty of mushrooms growing on it.

Fili’s eyes widened as the hobbit darted off into the brush. “What did you find?” He craned his head, trying to catch sight of her, but he could see no sign of her. “She’s wearing a yellow dress,” he mumbled. “How am I _not_ seeing her?”

“Mushrooms,” she called back from…somewhere. “Ooh, this is a lovely bunch of hog mushrooms!”

He continued to search the area with his eyes. “Enough to feed all of us you think?” Following her voice, he finally let out a small sigh of relief—he had spotted her about ten yards ahead of him.

“Hm? Oh, blessings no. This would only be enough for about two hobbits—which is, to say, barely enough for one dwarf.” She stood, holding the bottom of her skirt up so the mushrooms wouldn’t fall out. “It’s going to take a fair bit more hunting to find enough for all of us.” She carefully made her way back to him.

“You’re right,” he chuckled upon seeing the amount she had collected. It was a fair bit, but nowhere near enough for thirteen dwarves, two hobbits, and a wizard. “You are going to have to do a bit more hunting.”

As Fili lowered the pot for her, she started to transfer her bounty into it. “What doesn’t help is Bombur didn’t give me an estimate of how much he needed,” she sighed. Once her skirt was empty, she brushed the bits of stem and half-rotten bark off of it. Then, taking hold of the pot’s handle, she simply pulled it from Fili’s hands and started walking towards the log she had originally spotted.

He didn’t argue; if she was going to keep darting off, she needed it more than him. “You might have to find every mushroom in a three-mile radius,” he joked. “Though, if you accomplished that before nightfall, you’d have my uncle _really_ impressed.”

She rolled her eyes, but laughed. “Now I highly doubt I’d be able to do either of those things,” she replied. “I could cover that distance in a few _days_ , perhaps…Which wouldn’t impress your uncle very much, I’m sure.”

“You never know. The fact you found anything at all might leave him amazed.” He put his hands behind his head and locked his fingers together.

“Something tells me it takes more than finding some mushrooms to do that.” As they approached the log, she slowly walked around it, searching for more of the fungi. “Has he always been like that?”

“Not always, no. He used t’ be more lighthearted—and can still be, given enough ale and music—but this past decade hasn’t been very kind to him or my mother.”

She glanced up at him as she crouched down to harvest some chanterelles; they weren’t growing on the log, but on the ground near it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugged, watching as she carefully plucked the fungi from their stems. “With luck, this quest will change our family’s fortune. We’ll return t’ our ancestral home and, should that vile Smaug still live, we’ll defeat him once and for all.” A small grin came to his lips. “And then the line of Durin will once again sit upon the throne of Erebor.”

“Part of me is hoping that he’s already dead,” Baylee confessed. She stood up once more, the pot held in front of her. “Though, admittedly, another part of me wants to see an actual, _living_ dragon.”

“Well, that’s why we have you and your father with us, isn’t it?” he chuckled, brow rising. “As our Burglar and our Mouse-Lass, you’ll be the ones t’ tell us whether he’s alive or dead.” He once more started to follow her as she walked. His pace was leisurely; almost three of her strides equaled one of his. “Or if there are other creatures lurking inside the mountain that we’ll have t’ worry about.”

Her brow rose. “What do you mean, _other creatures_ …?”

“Oh, you know, the usual: Orcs, goblins, wargs, trolls, evil-hearted men. If the dragon’s dead, then it’s possible they’ve already moved in.”

She nodded slowly, though her brows furrowed. “What are wargs?” she then asked. “You and the others keep mentioning them, but I’ve never heard of them until I met you lot.”

Fili looked more than a little surprised by this. “You’ve…never heard of wargs?” She shook her head. “They’re…Akin to wolves, but they’re larger, meaner, and far uglier. And to make it even worse: They’re smart enough that they can talk.” He shook his head and said something in a foreign language before spitting on the ground. “Nasty creatures…some even say they’re inhabited by the spirits of long-dead men with black hearts and that’s how they’re so smart.”

A shudder ran down her spine at the thought. “I certainly hope we don’t run into any, then. They sound horrible—worse than the white wolves that attacked the Shire just over a century ago!” She scrunched her nose up and shook her head. “One of their heads had been mounted and was on display in my great-aunt Pansy’s home for many years. I don’t know if it’s still there, but I remember it being almost as big as my da’.”

“Oh, wargs are so big, you wouldn’t even be a snack for one. You’d be one— _maybe_ two—bites for them at most.” Despite his words, there was a bit of an amused grin on his lips; he couldn’t help but find some of fun in scaring the hobbit. “I don’t think Bilbo would be much more, either. But, you needn’t worry _too_ much. Almost every single one of us dwarves has seen battle at _least_ time or two. And warg packs are rare on this side of the Misty Mountains. Now, roving bands of orcs, on the other hand…”

Her brow rose as she led him towards a patch of mushrooms growing up the side of a tree. “I think that’s enough,” she pouted. “I know you’re trying to scare me and, while it is working a bit, I’m not going to be reduced to a shaking mess.”

At that, Fili laughed. “At least you admit when you’re scared. Most people would try to hide their fear.” Seeing her struggle with prying the mushrooms from the tree, he drew one of his smaller knives and offered it to her.

“Thank you.” Taking the knife, she started to carefully slice the fungi away. “As for fear, I don’t really see a point in hiding it in _most_ circumstances. But…that’s partly because I’m not very good when it comes to hiding my fear anyway.”

“What sort of circumstances do you think you’d try hiding it in?” His brow rose with curiosity.

“Around children you’re babysitting,” she stated matter-of-factly. “The minute you show a bit of fear, whether the child is a wee baby or one who can walk and talk, the minute they see you’re scared, it’s over. They’re going to wreak havoc.” She glanced over her shoulder as Fili burst out laughing. “What? I’m serious!”

“I wouldn’t know, to be honest,” he laughed. “I’ve never had t’ watch any dwarrowlings—at least, not on my own. My mother would sometimes watch Bombur’s little ones if he and Gerdi needed a break, but…well, Kili and I just wore them out for her.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Bombur has children?”

“Oh, yes. He’s currently got six!”

“That’s more than what most hobbits have—and we have large families!” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Do any other members of the Company have children?”

“Gloin has a son, but that’s it.”

“Really?” She glanced up at him. “With there being thirteen of you, I would have expected more to have families. Especially your uncle, given how important he is.”

Shaking his head, Fili chuckled. “There aren’t many dwarven women,” he explained. “They make up only about a third of our population. And only about a third of that third go on to marry and have children. Gloin and Bombur are lucky ones.”

“Why only a third of a third?” She looked up at him once more, confusion on her face.

“When Mahal—ah, Aulë t’ you—made us dwarves, he made our hearts fiercely passionate. Our kind falls in love only once and it’s usually with our crafts instead of another person. Or, if they _do_ fall in love, and it’s with someone who doesn’t love them back, they simply won’t ever marry.” Seeing that she was done with that batch of mushrooms, he offered her a hand up.

Instead of taking his hand, she returned his knife to him and stood up, nodding in understanding as she did so. “That makes sense,” she told him. “And it certainly explains the lack of families.” She grabbed the handle of the pot and, lifting it, started to walk off again. “It’s far different for us hobbits, but we’ve also got a larger percentage of females.”

“I saw that,” he chuckled. “In fact, most of the hobbits I saw the morning we left were female. At least, I’m assuming all the ones in dresses were female. I didn’t see a single hobbit with any semblance of a beard, so I can’t be too sure.”

She laughed at that. “Yes, the ones in dresses were the womenfolk. We hobbits don’t really grow facial hair,” she explained, “unless they’ve got Stoor blood in them.”

“Stoor…?”

“One of the three original groups of hobbits. There were Stoors, Fallohides, and Harfoots.” She tucked some hair behind her ear. “But so many years have passed that they’ve all just…kind of blended together, I guess. Are there different types of dwarves…?”

“There are seven houses of our people,” he grinned. “Though, t’ be honest with you, I don’t know much about them. I kind of…fell asleep during my lessons on them. My uncle would know more about them, however. So does Balin, but he tends to end up rambling onto unrelated points at times. But I’m sure either would be happy to tell you about them.”

She felt her cheeks turn the slightest bit pink; luckily, Fili was taller than her and didn’t see it. “I wouldn’t want to bother your uncle, so I might ask Balin in the future.”

His brow rose. “Bother him…? Why do you think you’d be bothering him?”

She shrugged, glancing around in her hunt for more mushrooms as her cheeks grew a bit pinker. “He just—well, he—He, uh…”

“Seems like he’s a big ol’ grump?”

Glancing up at him, a guilty smile came to her lips. “I wouldn’t have phrased it so bluntly, but…yes. He does have that sort of air about him.”

Fili laughed, making her feel a bit of relief. “Don’t worry—that’s just his face. Once you get him talking, you’ll see that he’s not as cranky as he looks.”

Almost an hour later, the two returned to the camp. Baylee wore a victorious grin as she held the pot; it was filled to the brim with a mixture of mushrooms, herbs, and other wild edibles. She also had bits of grass and some twigs sticking out of her hair and there were a couple of small tears on her dress, but she paid these no mind as she brought the pot over to Bombur.

“I found you three different kinds of mushrooms,” she told him as he took the pot from her, “as well as some garlic mustard, wild leek, wild asparagus, and peppergrass.”

Bombur’s eyes were wide as he looked through the bounty. “Well, carve me surprised! I wasn’t expecting you to get _nearly_ this amount of food!” he laughed. “Thank you, Miss Baggins. These will all be a great help with dinner!” He reached down and lightly tousled her hair, a smile on his face. “Best go get those twigs and leaves out of your hair before a bird tries to nest in it,” he gently teased before heading towards the fire to get started cooking.

Her brow rose and, running her hand over her hair, she could feel that her braids had grown quite messy. ‘Probably when I crawled under those bushes to reach the wild leeks,’ she thought, heading over to her bedroll. Sitting down, she pulled her pack over to herself; she was glad she had given the salt pork to Bombur, as it lightened the bag up quite a bit. After finding her comb, she untied the ribbons holding her braids before undoing the braids themselves.

As she plucked the debris from her hair, she glanced over at the fire. Bombur was pouring a large bucketful of water into his largest cooking pot, which was hanging on a chain over the fire. She watched as he then sat down next to a stump, using it as a cutting board.

‘Wonder which meat he’ll be using tonight?’ she thought, wincing as she pulled a twig from her hair. ‘As long as he leaves me enough sausage for the morning gravy…’ Most of the time, it was Bombur who handled dinner and she who made breakfast. It was an arrangement that worked out well, as Bombur enjoyed sleeping in. Plucking another twig from her hair, she started to carefully comb through the ash-brown locks.

“Oh, no…Baylee, what sort of mess did you get yourself into?”

She looked up in time to see Bilbo walking over to her, shaking his head in a fatherly fashion. “What do you mean, da’?” she asked, brow rising.

He motioned at her dress. “You’ve gone and ripped your dress _and_ you’ve got dirt all over your arms! Not to mention the state of your hair!” Shaking his head again, he sighed and plucked the comb from her hands. “All this for some mushrooms…It’s like you’re fifteen all over again.”

A small laugh left her mouth as he sat down behind her. “I was asked to find mushrooms, so I found mushrooms—and then some,” she told him. She held still as he gathered up her hair and started to pull out the twigs and leaves that she had missed. “The rips on my dress aren’t too bad, nor are the cuts on my arms.”

“How did you even get them?”

“I crawled under some bushes to get at some wild leeks.”

“…Why didn’t you just go around the bushes?”

“I couldn’t. They were brambles—they were taking up a huge area.”

Bilbo let out a heavy sigh and began to comb through her hair. “Why didn’t you just have Fili cut them down, then? He had his swords with him!” His tone was a bit on the scolding side.

At that, her cheeks darkened. “…I actually didn’t think of that,” she admitted. She flinched slightly as she felt her father flick the tip of her ear—something he did as a mild punishment. “Ow! It’s not like this dress is one of my good ones; I chose it because it was already ripped and stained in places.”

“I didn’t do it because of the dress. I did it because you weren’t thinking.” He held onto the middle of her hair as he fought some particularly difficult knots in the ends of her hair. “Use your noggin next time, young lady, and you won’t get your ear flicked again.”

A small pout came to her lips. “I don’t think he would have used his swords to chop through brambles anyway. He would have needed something more like Bifur’s spear or Gloin’s axes…Or Nori’s mace.”

His brow rose. “Regardless. If you see wild leeks growing on the opposite side of some brambles, _don’t_ crawl under the brambles in order to reach them, alright?” He used the comb to part her hair down the middle; half he put over her shoulder. The other half he started to braid from the top of her head, weaving in extra locks of hair on the way down. “Speaking of weapons, we may start fighting lessons soon.”

“We _may_ start fighting lessons?” She turned her head slightly to try and look over her shoulder at him.

Bilbo promptly turned her head back. “Yes, we _may_. Gandalf and Thorin agree that the two of us should know how to fight at least _somewhat_ given the dangers that we _could_ run into in the future.” He didn’t sound very excited by the idea; in fact, he sounded quite hesitant. “The problem is finding weapons small enough for us to use. Gandalf suggested we could learn to use a slingshot like Ori…”

Her brow rose. “Slingshots don’t sound like they’d make for very effective weapons…unless our enemies happen to be birds and small rodents.”

“Personally, I’d rather not fight at all. Ribbon, please.” He took the ribbon from his daughter as she held it over her shoulder. “But I understand that there may come a time when we need to. And we hobbits were, once upon a time, fierce warriors…But that was a long time ago. I don’t think there’s much warrior blood left in our veins.” He tied off the end of the first braid.

“Before we left, Fili and Kili suggested I use a pair of knives…they said I could go around, slicing tendons.”

“I’m not sure I’m particularly fond of the idea of my daughter doing such a thing,” he sighed, starting the second braid. “Maybe you can just hide if ever some sort of battle did happen.”

“Not even a Mouse-Lass could keep herself hidden forever.” Both hobbits looked up to see Thorin approaching. “Especially in battle against orcs or wargs, who can be quite unpredictable at times.” He then looked down at Baylee, his brow raised slightly. “And speaking of Mouse-Lasses…I hear ours did quite a good job in her foraging for Bombur.”

Baylee felt her cheeks start to grow a bit warm. “I think I did a…a decent job,” she half-mumbled, glancing away. Despite Fili having told her that Thorin wasn’t as cold as he seemed, she still felt intimidated by him.

“I saw the bounty you brought back. I’d consider that far more than decent,” he replied. “Keep that up and we may not have t’ worry about ever going hungry.” He watched as Bilbo finished up the second braid, tying it off when Baylee handed him the other ribbon. “As for upcoming training, Nori’s agreed to train you, Master Burglar. And you, Mouse-Lass, will be working with Fili and Kili.”

Bilbo frowned at that—both because of the title ‘Master Burglar’ and him only training with one dwarf. “Wh-why will they _both_ be training her but only Nori will be training me?”

“Nori will be teaching you more than just fighting,” he said rather simply. “As for my nephews, it’s merely because you can hardly keep those two separated. It was a wonder that Kili didn’t join Fili and Mouse-Lass earlier.”

A slight pout came to her lips. “Y-you can just use my name, you know. There’s no reason to keep calling me ‘Mouse-Lass’.”

At that, his brow rose and a bit of amusement came to his lips. “Do I need to have a reason to call you by your title instead of your name?”

“N-no, but one may begin to think that your constant use of ‘Mouse-Lass’—and, come to think of it, ‘Master Burglar’, too!—is a way for you to cover up the fact that, perhaps, you’ve _forgotten_ our names!”

Bilbo’s eyes widened at his daughter’s words; he knew she could have a quick wit about her at times, but the fact it had just come about towards a _king_ left him horrified. He opened his mouth to scold her, but was stopped before he could speak as Thorin let out a hearty laugh.

“I assure you, _Mistress_ _Baylee_ , I know yours and your father’s names quite well,” he snickered. Unlike Bilbo, he was quite amused by her sudden boldness—especially given how shy she usually was around most of the Company. “As I said, though, I simply prefer to call you by the titles I have given you.”

She felt her cheeks become a bit warmer. “Well, then, if that’s the case, I’ll just…I’ll just call you ‘Oakenshield’ from now on.”

Thorin’s brow rose as he looked down at her; it seemed like all humor had left his face, making her immediately regret even opening her mouth. But then, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and let out another laugh. “So be it, Mouse-Lass.” Before he walked off, he looked at Bilbo and chuckled when he found him still wearing a horrified expression.

Baylee suddenly winced and covered her ear when she felt Bilbo flick her once again; he had done it a bit harder this time. “Ouch! Da’!” She scooted away from him so he couldn’t do it a third time.

“Do you know how much trouble you could have gotten yourself into?” he scolded. “Imagine if he _hadn’t_ found you amusing! Come morning, you might’ve found yourself tied up to a tree and left behind or-or-or-or—I don’t even want to think of what else could have happened!”

“Ah, no need t’ worry,” said Bofur, who had been sitting on his own bedroll nearby. He had his pipe in hand, taking a long draw from it. “The worse he would have done is make her take first watch for the next couple o’ nights.” As he spoke, smoke furled from his nose and mouth. “He knows we’re all going t’ be too invaluable when it comes time t’ get into the mountain, so he won’t risk losing any o’ us.”

Bilbo sighed. “Well, there’s that at least,” he murmured. He then shook his head and, frowning, wagged a scolding finger at his daughter. “Still! You, young lady, know better than to get cheeky with people.”

“He got cheeky first,” she replied, crossing her arms.

“She’s got a point,” Bofur snickered.

Bilbo gave Bofur a small glare from the corner of his eye, but ignored his comment for now. “He’s a king, Baylee—a _king_. He’s allowed to get lippy.”

“An’ he’s got a point, too.” A playful grin came to the dwarf’s lips when Bilbo gave him a most exasperated expression. “What? You do! An’ she does, too. Thorin _did_ get sassy with her first, so it was her right t’ get sassy back. But she _should_ watch out who she sasses in the future, because they may not find her as hilarious as he did.”

Baylee’s brow rose, but there was a small smile on her lips as Bofur spoke. “I do try my best to be cautious about who I get lippy with—which da’ knows well,” she said. “Though, I doubt Tho— _Oakenshield_ found me ‘hilarious’.”

Bilbo sighed and nodded in acquiesce. “That is true; you are fairly well behaved most of the time,” he admitted. “I suppose I was just taken aback by your audacity.”

“An’ if he didn’t find you hilarious, I did,” Bofur chuckled. “Then again, you’re both rather hilarious at times. One minute you’re both calm and the next, you’re bursting into fits o’ giggles or telling off one o’ us dwarves.” He shook his head and leaned back while crossing his legs. “I guess it’s partly because o’ how small the two o’ you are. Sometimes we forget the two o’ you _aren’t_ a pair o’ dwarrowlings.”

At that, Bilbo laughed, his brow rising. “How can you confuse us for dwarven children? We don’t have nearly enough hair.”

Baylee grabbed her braids and brought them forward, holding them along her jaw. “Get me some glue and I could have a decent set of muttonchops,” she joked.

As Bofur cracked up, Bilbo stared at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to tell her off again, but instead, he reached over and took the ends of her braids. Holding them together under her nose, he leaned back slightly as if inspecting the placement. Then, with a small grin coming to his lips, he declared, “There. _Now_ you look like a proper dwarven child.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say somewhat early update? No? Too bad! 
> 
> Also, what are people's thoughts on me potentially adding in some drawings I've done of various scenes? They'd probably be mostly sketches, but there might be a few full-color illustrations...

“…Two-one-five! Good! Very good!”

“Move your feet.”

“I-I’m trying!”

“Let’s start again. You’re doing fairly well!”

Baylee nodded, feeling a bit too breathless to talk at the moment. It was her third day of sword training and Kili’s sword, which had felt surprisingly light to her a week ago, now felt as if it were made from cast iron. As Fili started to swing his sword, she did her best to both keep up and to remember the guard positions as he called them out. The movements made her arms burn and she bit her lower lip, struggling to ignore the pain.

The worst part, however, was how hot it was. The day had been uncomfortably warm and muggy, making any sort of exertion all the more unpleasant.

“Three-five-one-four-two.” With each number, he took a step forward, forcing Baylee to either back up or step to the side. “Good, good!” Seeing how red her cheeks were and how hard she was breathing, he gave her a pitying smile. “I think it’s time for a small break.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Baylee dropped the sword and doubled over, her hands resting on her thighs. Her eyes were clenched shut in pain; her lungs felt like they were on fire. The last time she had felt this sore and out of breath was her first time serving a full house at the Green Dragon nearly three years ago.

“I think we _might_ have waited a little too long for this break,” Kili said, frowning. “Are you alright, Baylee?”

She nodded, feeling a bead of sweat drip off her nose. “F-fine,” she wheezed. A few seconds later, she looked up as she felt something lightly tap her shoulder. There stood Fili, still wearing the apologetic smile as he held out a waterskin to her.

“I can’t promise it’s cold anymore,” he told her with a small chuckle.

“Th-thanks,” she said, managing a thankful smile. Taking the flask, she uncorked it and took a long drink. To her relief, the water _was_ cool and sent a pleasant shiver through her body. ‘Oh blessings, I needed this,’ she thought, taking another drink. This second one was shorter, as she didn’t want to drink _all_ of the water, even if they were near a river.

With only a small wince, she corked the flask before reaching down to retrieve the sword. Then, forcing herself to stand upright once more, she went over to join the brothers on the log they sat on.

“On a scale of one to ten, what’s your pain level right now?” Kili asked, an amused look on his face.

“A-about an eight,” she admitted, leaning the sword against the log before sitting. “It’ll probably go up to a nine by tomorrow, though.” Pulling her handkerchief from her pocket, she used it to dab the sweat from her face. “Why do you ask?”

Fili chuckled, “Because if you were below a five, we would know we’re not working you hard enough,” he told her. “At least, that’s what uncle an’ Dwalin used to tell us when they were teaching us.”

“You’re even about the same size we were when we started to learn,” Kili grinned. He watched as she started to fan herself with the handkerchief. “Though, we were only about ten then. Not…however old you are.”

“Thirty-three,” she replied without thinking. Upon realizing she had given her age, she somewhat froze in mild horror.

 _“A lady never gives her age so readily when asked because it is quite rude to ask a lady such a thing!”_ she heard Primrose say in the back of her mind.

“Thirty-three?” Kili snorted. “You can’t be serious—you can’t be more than fifteen!”

She pursed her lips in indignation. “I’ll have you know I turned thirty-three just a few weeks before you lot showed up at Bag End,” she told him, much to Fili’s amusement.

“What about your father, then? How old’s he?” Kili asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

She cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “He turned fifty in September.” Glancing over at the brothers, she could tell they were doing the math in their heads; her cheeks started to grow hot once more. “Wh-why? How old are you two, then?” she quickly asked, hoping to distract them.

“I’m eighty-two and Kili’s seventy-seven,” Fili answered, the distraction having successfully worked on him.

But Kili hadn’t been tricked. “Your dad was only seventeen when you were born?” he questioned. He looked both confused and in awe. “Hobbits must come of age a lot sooner than us dwarves!”

Biting her lip, she glanced away; she knew it would be useless to lie or to try to change the subject now. “We come of age at thirty-three,” she sighed. “I…was a bit of an accident. The result of my da’ and mother having too much Breeland beer at one of the Old Took’s parties.”

Expressions of understanding suddenly came to their faces and they nodded. “Ah, yeah, that sounds about right,” Fili said with a chuckle. “Breeland beer is strong stuff. First time I had it, I woke up in Bombur’s cellar the next afternoon, surrounded by half-eaten apples. To this day, I haven’t a clue how I ended up like that and everyone refuses to tell me how it happened.”

Baylee couldn’t help but laugh at that, her brow rising. “You’ve had Breeland beer?” she asked, a bit shocked to hear that.

“Of course we have!” Kili grinned. “When we were younger, our mum an’ uncle went traveling all around the lands between the Misty Mountains and Ered Luin to look for our grandfather. They didn’t find Thrain, but they did find and bring back that wonderfully potent beer.” He then shook his head, chuckling. “The first time I overindulged, I apparently tried to woo a statue.”

“Aye, and it was starting to fall for your charm, too,” Fili teased. “Shame it was a statue of a boar, though, and not a dwarrow dame. I don’t think your children would have been too pretty.”

As Baylee burst into a fit of laughter, Kili lightly punched his brother in the arm. “At least _I_ remember what I did while drunk and it didn’t involve apples!”

“At this point, I don’t think I’d _want_ t’ know what happened,” Fili snorted. He glanced at Baylee. “What about you, Baylee? How’d your first time with Breeland beer go?”

“Oh, blessings, I haven’t tried a sip of it!” she managed to say through her giggles. “Both because I’ve heard so many horror stories about it and because I’m the result of one of those stories.” She was relieved that they didn’t seem to be all that horrified by the fact that her father had been so young when she was born—or, if they were, they were hiding it well.

“Smart girl,” Kili grinned. Leaning back slightly, he looked up at the sky. “We should do a few more rounds of practice,” he then said, “since it’ll be getting dark soon.”

Nodding, Baylee reluctantly got to her feet. Her body protested every bit of movement, but she wasn’t going to let herself complain—at least, not out loud. Grabbing Kili’s sword again, she walked a few yards away and waited for one of the brothers to join her.

This time, it would be Kili. Taking Fili’s sword as it was offered to him, he walked towards her. “Let’s try something a little different,” he told her. “I’m not going to call out the positions this time around—but I _will_ go slow the first few rounds if you’re remembering them well enough, alright?”

“Understood,” she said, getting into a defensive stance.

As Kili came at her, she raised the sword. Just as he promised, he moved slowly, going at what now felt like a snail’s pace compared to when Fili was the one teaching her. On the first round, he went in order, but after that, he started to change the position order up. In her head, Baylee could hear his and Fili’s voices as she blocked his sword.

_One-Five-three-two-four._

_Four-three-five-two-one._

_Five-two-one-four-three._

With each new set of attacks, Kili got faster and faster. Baylee continued to do her best to push through the pain, but it was obvious she was struggling. Many times, she managed to only _just_ block the blow. To make matters worse, the ground in this area was uneven, making backing up and sidestepping a bit precarious.

Only a quarter of an hour had passed when her heel caught on a rock. A squeak left her mouth as she started to fall backwards and she clenched her eyes shut, preparing for the painful impact of hitting the ground. But it never came. Instead, she felt a pair of hands clasp her upper arms, keeping her mostly upright. Blinking in surprise, she looked up only to find Thorin staring down at her.

“Are you alright, Mouse-Lass?” he questioned, his brow rising.

“Y-yes, thank you,” she said as he set her back on her feet. She was thankful her cheeks had already been red from exertion, because otherwise, they would have been red from embarrassment. “Just got ambushed by a rock is all.” Now that she was upright, she saw that Thorin’s hair was wet and that he wore only his trousers and tunic.

“What do you need, uncle?” Fili asked, rising from his spot on the log.

“I need nothing,” he replied. “I merely came to tell the three of you that I inspected the river and found it both shallow and safe enough for us to bathe in. So, if you wish to cut your practice a bit—” He frowned slightly as his nephews let out cries of joy and bolted off back towards camp. “…I must admit, I was not expecting them to be _that_ enthusiastic about bathing.”

Baylee chuckled as she walked over to the log where the sheath for Kili’s sword sat. “With how muggy it’s been today and how long we were practicing, it doesn’t surprise me that they’d want to take a dip.” Her lips pursed slightly as her arm shook, making the task of sheathing the blade a bit more difficult than it should have been.

He watched a small, victorious smile come to her lips when she finally got the sword in. “I’m afraid you’ll want to wait some time before you bathe—if you choose to do such, that is. The others are all at the river.”

“I am most _certainly_ going to bathe once they’re all done,” she smiled. The knowledge that she would soon get to wash all the dirt and sweat off her skin managed to renew her energy—but only by just a bit. She started to walk alongside Thorin as they made their way back towards camp. “Judging by your wet hair, I take it you’ve already bathed, then?”

He nodded. “Yes. Someone needs to stay behind and watch over the camp while the others bathe.”

“That makes sense.” The last time the group had bathed, it had been Dwalin who elected to stay behind to watch over the camp—and her.

It didn’t take long to reach the campsite, but to Baylee’s dismay, upon arrival they found piles of clothes laying around on the ground. A heavy sigh left her mouth; with all the clothes here, she knew that the others would be returning to camp naked. They had done the same thing the last time, leaving her to sit with her eyes covered for nearly half an hour as they sorted through all the clothes.

Thorin shook his head and swore under his breath. “I told them to disrobe _at_ the river,” he grumbled. “My apologies, Mouse-Lass…I suppose, like my nephews, they were too excited and just ran off.”

“It’s fine,” she replied with a reassuring smile. “So long as I get enough of a warning that I can close my eyes before I see anything, I don’t mind.” Finding Kili’s bedroll, she placed his sword down on it before going over to the fire and, standing on tiptoe, lifted the lid to peer into the cooking pot. From what she could tell, Bombur had some sort of pork stew simmering away. Inwardly, she frowned.

She was _so_ tired of stew…but she knew that she couldn’t complain. They had food and they had enough of it for everyone. And Bombur was an excellent cook, so at least it would taste good.

“I’ll be sure to let you know when I see them coming,” he told her. He watched as she lifted Bombur’s large ladle and used it to stir the stew around.

Once done, she tapped the ladle on the rim of the pot and set it back in the spot she had found it. Then, she went over to her bedroll and sat down before fishing around for her pipe and tobacco pouch. Glancing over at Thorin, she saw him sit down on his own bedroll and pull out his comb. She looked back at her pipe as she filled the bowl with tobacco and then pressed it down on it with her thumb, repeating the process twice more before checking the air flow.

‘I wonder if now would be a good time to ask about the seven dwarf clans?’ she thought, pulling out a match while holding the stem of the pipe between her teeth. Striking it, she let it burn for a few seconds before holding it to the bowl. She watched the leaves light up only to, a few seconds later, go out again. Once more, she held the burning match to it. ‘Since it’s just the two of us…it’d be rather awkward to sit here the whole time in silence, after all…’

She mulled over the thought for a few minutes, letting herself enjoy a few mouthfuls of smoke. It had the spiciness of unflavored pipe weed, but there were hints of cherries and peaches to it. Closing her eyes, she smiled to herself; it reminded her of the Shire and the comfortable hobbit hole that was Bag End…And the fact that she could take a bath whenever she pleased instead of having to wait until they came across a stream or river.

A small sigh left her mouth, some smoke wafting out as she did so. Stealing another glance over at Thorin, she saw that he was still combing his hair. She wasn’t sure why she expected him to be done by now—he had quite a bit of hair.

“…Oakenshield?”

His brow rose and he looked at her. “Yes, Mouse-Lass?”

“A while ago, Fili mentioned that there were seven different houses of the dwarves,” she began, feeling a bit of nerves in her stomach. “I tried to ask him more about said houses, but he told me that it would be better if I were to ask you…”

“I’m surprised you’re interested in such a thing.” As he spoke, he separated a section of his hair out with his fingers before beginning to comb it. “From what I know of hobbits, they don’t have much interest in the world outside their borders.”

She nodded. “Most don’t,” she agreed. “But da’s map collection has always left me curious about the rest of the world.”

“Your father has a collection of maps?” he questioned, chuckling. “I wouldn’t have expected that of him.”

“Oh, yes—he’s got nearly a hundred! And they’re of places all over Middle Earth, though most of them are in languages neither of us can read.” She took a small pull from her pipe.

He nodded slowly in understanding. “I suppose that explains why he knew that Mirkwood was once called the Greenwood…” he commented, more to himself than to her. Then, sectioning out another part of his hair, he started to explain the clans. “Yes, there are seven houses of the dwarves, with the eldest being the Longbeards—better known as Durin’s folk, due to being descended from the first father of dwarves to awaken. Longbeards are both the longest lived of the clans and are known for their long beards.

“Then there are the Firebeards and Broadbeams, who come from Ered Luin. Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur are all Broadbeams while the rest of us are Durin’s Folk.” He glanced over at Baylee, finding that she had her head cocked somewhat as she listened to him. “Firebeards are well known for their bright red hair and their ability to withstand higher temperatures than the other clans. Because of this, most of the great dwarven furnaces in the world are maintained by Firebeards. Broadbeams, though, are best known for being the biggest of the dwarves—whether it’s in height or in width.”

She couldn’t help but giggle quietly. “Explains Bombur,” she murmured. Her cheeks grew a touch pink when she realized Thorin had heard her.

“The next four clans originated in the far east,” he continued with a small chuckle, “and most still dwell there to this day. They are the Stiffbeards, the Blacklocks, the Stonefoots, and the Ironfists.” As he said the name of the final clan, Baylee noticed that it was said with some disgust. “The Blacklocks and Stonefoots settled the Red Mountains while the Stiffbeards and the Ironfists make their homes in the Yellow Mountains.

“As you can imagine, the Blacklocks are known for their dark hair—I haven’t met one personally, but it is said that their hair is even blacker than a moonless night and they’re the stealthiest of the houses. The Stonefoots have the greatest overall endurance of the clans, being able to fight for days on end without rest. The Stiffbeards are more or less called such because how far north they live—so far north, that their beards grow stiff from the cold.”

Thorin paused, sectioning out more of his hair to comb through. As she waited for him to continue, Baylee lit another match, as her pipe had gone out. But when she had gotten it lit and he _hadn’t_ continued talking, her brow rose slightly.

“What about the Ironfists?” she questioned.

“Oath-breakers,” he grumbled. “Centuries ago, when Durin’s folk called for aid to help defend their ancestral home of Gundabad, all other clans pledged to help, the Ironfists included. And all other clans sent warriors—except for the Ironfists. And because of that, Gundabad was lost. Ever since then, the Longbeards and the Ironfists have hated one another.”

She nodded slowly in understanding. “…Why are they called Ironfists?” she slowly asked, wondering if it was a wise idea to do such.

“Mahal—Aulë, to the other races—made the skin of their hands as tough as iron,” he answered with a sigh, “and it can be just as reflective as polished iron, or so I hear. They’re able to reach into a forge and grab glowing-hot metal or they can use their fists to break through stone.”

“…Skin as tough as iron sounds like it’d be a mighty nice thing to have when it comes time to cook,” she thought aloud. “Especially when a sausage falls through the grate.”

Thorin’s brow rose and he let out a laugh, taking her by surprise. “I suppose it would be useful for that sort of thing, yes,” he agreed. “Though, it’s not something I would have thought of.”

She managed a small smile. “What can I say? I’m a hobbit and we hobbits think with our stomachs most of the time.” At the mention of food, she glanced over at the stew, thinking it was about time it needed a good stir.

Standing up, she wandered over to the pot and, holding the stem of her pipe between her teeth, she removed the lid. She grabbed the ladle and gave the stew a good stir—just in time, too, as there were some bits starting to stick to the bottom. She knew it would be best to get the pot off the heat, but it was much too big for her to move.

“…I hate to ask, but could you move this off of the heat for me, please?” she asked, looking at Thorin. “It’s starting to stick to the bottom and I don’t think any of us want burnt stew for dinner.”

Without a word, Thorin rose to his feet and walked over. A quiet grunt left his mouth as he lifted the pot from the hooks suspending it over the fire and set it on the ground near the fire. “Is this good, Mouse-Lass? Or does it need to be further away?”

“That should be good,” she replied. “Thank you, Oakenshield.”

He quietly chuckled. “You’re truly insisting on calling me such until I use your name, aren’t you?”

She glanced up at him as she gave the stew another stir, her free hand moving the pipe from her mouth. “Yes, I am,” she replied. Tapping the ladle on the rim, she returned it to its spot before retrieving the lid and replacing it on the pot.

“Do many hobbits have such a stubborn streak in them? Or would it just be you and your father?”

“A good portion of hobbits can be quite stubborn, yes,” she replied with a small laugh. “Some of them annoyingly so—like the Sackville-Bagginses.” Shaking her head, she went back to her bedroll. As she sat down, the two of them could hear a loud cheer arise from the river.

He didn’t seem to care about the cheer as he returned to his bedroll as well. “Your father has mentioned them a few times…Who are these ‘Sackville-Bagginses’? Relatives, I’m assuming?”

She nodded. “Yes, sadly. They’re greedy folk who’ve been trying to get da’ to make Otho his heir so they can eventually get their hands on Bag End and da’s fortune.”

At that, his brow rose. “But you are his heir. Or do hobbit women not inherit?”

“Hobbit women can inherit, yes, but…” She bit her lower lip; telling Fili and Kili that she was illegitimate was one thing, but telling _Thorin_ that she was illegitimate was an entirely different matter.

“…But the fact that you were born out of wedlock makes it impossible for you to inherit?” He watched as shock came to her face. “Your father told me,” he answered before she could ask. “Or, rather, your father was coerced into telling me and Gandalf when the wizard asked him about his lack of a wife.” Sectioning out his hair again, he picked up his comb and began to untangle the locks once more.

“I see,” she murmured, taking a small puff from her pipe. After a few seconds, she released the smoke in a sigh. “It isn’t _impossible_ for me to inherit. I just have to be married and then da’ can name me _and_ my husband as his heirs.”

“That sounds needlessly complicated.”

“It’s how it’s always been done.” She shrugged, watching him as she pulled her knees to her chest—of course, she made sure her petticoats and dress continued to cover her legs as she did such. “How is it done for dwarves?”

“Whether illegitimate or not, a child will inherit,” he said. “If the child has siblings, then the inheritance is evenly distributed among them. If there are no children, the inheritance is then divided among the couple’s siblings—should the couple have any that remain alive.”

“What if there’s no one to inherit?”

“Then their property goes up for auction.” He frowned as he found a particularly stubborn knot in his hair. “And for hobbits?”

“The same thing happens if there are no heirs named.” She watched him fight against the tangle; he was starting at the bottom and working his way up. Part of her wanted to offer to help, since he had so much hair, but she had quickly come to learn that hair and beards were sacred to dwarves. Offering to help a dwarf comb or braid their hair while not being a part of their family was seen as a highly flirtatious act.

“And if you had been born male?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

He glanced over at her. “I know among some groups of Men, if there’s only one son, he’s the heir regardless of his legitimacy. Is it the same for hobbits?”

“Oh…I’m actually not sure about that. To be honest, I don’t know much about how inheritance works. I only know what I know because I eavesdropped on the conversations my da’ would have with my grandparents.” Her cheeks turned a bit pink as a small, cheeky smile came to her lips.

He chuckled. “Eavesdropping? You’ve always been a bit of a Mouse-Lass, then. I can’t say that surprises me much.”

Baylee was about to reply when Thorin suddenly looked to his right; she could hear laughter and shouting quickly getting closer and closer. “Time to close your eyes, Mouse-Lass,” he warned.

Groaning, she closed her eyes and tilted her head down towards the ground. She did _not_ want to see any nude dwarves…

* * *

A few nights later found the company camped on a wide, flat ledge. It had been a long day of climbing uphill in the May heat, leaving the group exhausted. As such, most of them had turned in early for the night; even Bilbo and Baylee’s sword lessons were set aside in favor of getting a bit of extra rest.

But sleeping on rocky ground was hard to do, as Baylee had quickly come to find out.

She rolled from her back onto her side for seemingly the thousandth time that night. Despite the ground being covered in a soft layer of grass, it didn’t provide much in the way of cushioning. To make matters worse, it wasn’t just the ground keeping her awake—Bombur’s loud snoring was also a factor.

‘I think I would have an easier time falling asleep on Buttercup’s back,’ she thought, her nose scrunched up slightly. Beside her, she heard Bilbo quietly curse under his breath as he, too, tossed and turned. ‘At least I’m not the only one who can’t get to sleep…’

After a bit more wriggling about in an attempt to find comfort, she was finally able to get herself relatively settled. Her father, however, had given up, choosing instead to get to his feet and walk in the direction of the ponies. A small sigh of victory left her lips and her mind soon started to fill with the pleasant fuzziness brought on by her approaching slumber.

But, just as she was about to drift off, a bone-chilling scream broke the still night air.

Baylee’s eyes shot wide open and her body tensed. She heard footsteps rush past her and could see her father’s silhouette as he hurried over to the fire. Another scream sounded in the distance and she shot upright, her eyes wide and her skin pale.

“What were those screams?” Bilbo squeaked.

“Orcs,” Kili replied. He and Fili sat with their backs to the rock wall, their pipes in hand. Both of them seemed far too calm for having just said there were _orcs_ somewhere out there.

“Orcs?” Bilbo repeated, his voice sounding weak.

“Throat-cutters,” Fili elaborated. “There’ll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are _crawling_ with them.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Baylee murmured to herself. Curiosity, however, took a hold of her and she stood up. She walked over to where the ponies were gathered near the edge of the cliff. They seemed uneasy thanks to the screams; as she passed by Buttercup, she gave the mare a gentle pat on the neck. “It’s alright, girl. We’re safe up here,” she quietly cooed. A small smile came to her lips as the mare’s nose brushed against her forehead before she snorted.

‘At least one of us believes my words,’ she thought, stepping away from the mare. She inched closer to the cliff’s edge and bit her lower lip as she nervously peeked down at the ground below. The light of the half-moon didn’t give off much light, but what light it _did_ give off enabled her to see some clearings among the trees. She could also see that, further south, the tree line thinned.

“They strike in the wee small hours,” Kili spoke up, making sure his voice was _just_ loud enough for her to hear as well, “when everyone’s asleep. Quick and quiet—no screams. Just lots of blood.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the princes, her lips pursed in a pout when she saw them laughing quietly. “I don’t think now is the best time for your jokes,” she scolded, which only made them snicker more. Shaking her head, she looked back out over the land below.

“You think that’s funny?” Thorin’s voice quickly silenced their laughter. “You think a night raid by _orcs_ is a joke?” He stood up, glaring at the two of them.

“W-we didn’t mean anything by it,” Kili quickly apologized, glancing away in guilt.

“No, you didn’t,” Thorin snapped. “You know _nothing_ of the world.”

Sighing softly, Baylee pulled her hair over her shoulder and started to run her fingers along the braid. The fear-brought adrenaline was still coursing its way through her veins, leaving her feeling jittery and anxious. She hoped the orcs were nowhere near them; the scream had sounded quite distant, but still eerily loud.

The tiniest of specks moved in the corner of her vision and she turned her head. In one of the southern clearings, she saw movement. What it was she saw moving, however, was a different story; it was too far away for her to get even the slightest idea of what it could be. She prayed that it wasn’t an orc. Even in daylight, her vision wouldn’t have been good enough to make out just _what_ it was she was looking at. Her brows furrowed and, unconsciously, she walked a few feet southwards, as if trying to get a better look.

“You see them, don’t you?” She let out a small gasp of surprise, looking up as Thorin came to stand near her. “The orcs.”

“I-I’m not sure,” she replied. “I do see something moving, but I can’t tell what it is. It’s just a dot to my eyes.”

“Which way is it moving?”

“South.”

“Then whatever it is, we should be safe. We’re traveling north.”

She nodded slowly, silence falling between the two. A voice drifted towards her ears and, looking over her shoulder, she could see Balin now standing near the fire, speaking with the princes and her father.

“…After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain,” he was telling them, “King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria…but our enemy had gotten there first. Moria had been taken by legions of orcs lead by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler.”

Beside her, Thorin quietly cursed before spitting on the ground.

“The giant Gundabad orc had sworn t’ wipe out the line of Durin,” Balin continued. “He began by beheading the king.” A shaky sigh left his mouth. “Thrain, Thorin’s father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing—taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat an’ death were upon us. But that is when I saw him: A young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc.”

Baylee glanced over at Thorin, finding his eyes fixed on the eastern horizon where the towering peaks of the Misty Mountains hid the lower portion of the sky from view. But his gaze seemed even more distant than that; as Balin recounted the tale, he was looking into the past, watching that horrid battle play out all over again in his mind.

“He stood alone against this terrible foe,” Balin continued on, “his armor rent and wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken.”

She stole another look at him; this time, her eyes fell to the oaken shield hanging at his side. She had glimpsed it a handful of times over the last month, but she was never able to get a good look at it. Still unable to see it too well, she glanced away. From what she had seen of it, however, she knew that it still resembled a branch in shape, though it had been shaved down and hollowed out quite a bit to allow him to wear it on his forearm like a gauntlet.

“Our forces rallied an’ drove the orcs back; our enemy had been defeated,” Balin said. A heavy sigh left his mouth. “But there was no feast nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count o’ grief. We few had survived.”

“But the pale orc,” Bilbo questioned after a moment. “What happened to him?”

Thorin turned, facing the fire. “He slunk back into the hole from whence he came,” he answered, disgust in his voice. “That filth died of his wounds long ago.” He then looked at Baylee, finding that her eyes were locked on the southern horizon in search of more movement. “You should get some sleep, Mouse-Lass,” he told her, his voice a bit gentler. “You can rest easy. No orcs will get us tonight.”

She nodded slowly and turned away from the ledge, moving to go back to her bedroll. As she laid down and covered herself with her blanket, she found that, somehow, it was a bit easier for her to get comfortable. It took a little while for the adrenaline to finish wearing off, but when it was out of her system, sleep came quickly to her.

But that night, her rest was anything _but_ easy. Her dreams were plagued by nightmares of running from orcs, their screams echoing through her mind.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a miserable day.

It had started to rain early in the morning and, thanks to the clouds, the day was chilly. By midday, everyone was soaked to the bone. Bilbo and Baylee, who didn’t have cloaks of their own, had been given spares by Dwalin and Gloin. Though the extra layer had helped for a while, after an entire day of being out in the rain, the cloaks had become rather useless.

And what made matters worse was that, at some point during the day, Gandalf had disappeared. No one had seen him ride off or bring his horse to a halt, so it was impossible to know just how long he had been missing.

It was a few hours from dusk when they road past the ancient ruins of what had once been a castle. Looking at them, Baylee felt a shiver run down her spine; once upon a time, the castle _may_ have been a welcomed sight to travelers, but now it looked eerie and wicked. She forced herself to look away, a sense of unease coming over her.

But there was _one_ good thing about the castle: Because it sat so close to a river, a bridge had been built around the same time as it. The bridge, however, seemed to be in much better condition—still worn with age, but it stood strong against the swollen and raging river below. The weary travelers slowly made their way across the bridge, going in pairs just in case the stones weren’t as strong as they looked.

By the time everyone had crossed, the rain had finally come to an end and the clouds started to scatter, allowing the blue sky to peek down at them.

“We’ll travel for another hour,” Thorin told the group. “Then we’ll look for a dry patch to camp on for the night.”

“What about Gandalf, though?” Bilbo asked as he pushed his soaking wet hood out of his face.

“What about him?” Thorin questioned, his brow rising.

“Shouldn’t we wait for him?”

“He’s a wizard—he knows how t’ care for himself,” Dwalin answered. “We can wait for him when we make camp.”

Bilbo frowned and glanced over at his daughter, finding that she was doing her best to wring some of the water out of Gloin’s cloak. Her teeth chattered slightly and his frown grew in size; he wished he had something dry and warm to wrap her up in. He guided his pony, Myrtle, closer to Buttercup and Baylee.

“Are you alright, dear?” he asked, still wearing a look of concern. “You look like you’re frozen to the bone.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m a touch cold, but I’ll be fine once I dry off a bit,” she replied. She leaned over slightly and twisted a section of the cloak; both hobbits watched as a good bit of water fell to the ground. Hearing her father sigh, she glanced up. “You might want to do the same, da’,” she told him. “There’s no telling how much water Dwalin’s cloak soaked up throughout the day.”

“Good idea,” he murmured, watching as she wrung out even more water. “But first…here.” He reached inside his jacket only to produce a small, metal flask. “Take a drink of this. It’ll warm you up for a while.”

Her brow rose as she reached over, taking the flask from him. “Is this what I think it is?”

Shrugging innocently, he watched as she opened the flask and took a small, hesitant sip. As the liquid slid down her throat, she made a strange face, causing Bilbo to laugh. “Well? Is it what you thought it was?”

“It is, but I honestly didn’t expect you to have some Brandybuck’s Best on you,” she wheezed, closing the flask. Her mouth and throat burned from the whiskey while her stomach started to grow warm. Holding it out to her father, her nose scrunched up slightly; it was good alcohol, but whiskey had always been a bit too strong for her.

“I’ve been keeping it hidden from—well, you know.” He nodded at the dwarves ahead of them. “I want it to last me a while.”

“You won’t have to worry about me trying to steal any of it,” she assured him. Though, the warmth that had filled her stomach was now spreading throughout the rest of her body. A sigh left her mouth. “I could really go for some East Farthing wine or some North Farthing cider, though.”

He chuckled, his brow rising. “Beginning to get a little homesick, are you?” he questioned.

“At times,” she admitted. “But I’m still enjoying myself—for the most part. I could have done without those orc cries a few nights ago.”

“I think we _all_ could have done without those orc cries.”

Though Thorin had said they would stop to make camp an hour later, nearly two hours had passed and they were still traveling. The group was beginning to voice their discontent, with most members of the company wanting to stop and dry out for the night. But they continued on, the light slowly fading around them.

Baylee sighed, having wrapped the damp cloak around herself like a blanket in an attempt to keep herself a bit warm. She also leaned forward, pressing herself against the back of Buttercup’s neck in hopes of the pony sharing some of her body heat. The horn of the saddle dug into her stomach a bit, but it was a pain she was willing to endure for the warmth.

It was in this fashion she felt herself beginning to drift off to sleep only to be suddenly jolted back into full consciousness.

“Mouse-Lass!” Thorin called from the front of the line. She didn’t like how annoyed he sounded.

“C-coming,” she half called, half yawned. Sitting upright once more, she urged Buttercup to increase her pace just a bit. It took some effort; she still wasn’t the best when it came to riding, so the mare only listened to her _most_ of the time.

When she eventually reached the front of the line, she found their leader wearing a sour face. “We’re going to stop soon,” he told her, his eyes looking at the road ahead, “and when we do, I want you to look around the area and find us somewhere dry. I will not have us sleeping in the mud.”

She frowned, looking out into the trees that surrounded them. On the road, there was still a good deal of light, but under those boughs, it was already quiet dark. “Alright,” she said, sounding uncertain. “I’ll do my best.” As much as she wanted to point out that it would be nearly impossible to find anything dry after the day-long downpour, she kept her mouth shut.

Just as he had said, half an hour later, he brought the company to a halt in the middle of the road. The light had faded a bit more, making the hobbit lass a bit more hesitant to venture out in search of dry lodgings. Dismounting Buttercup, her nose scrunched up as she landed with a small splash, feeling bits of mud get sent up her calves.

“If you run into any trouble,” Thorin told her, “give as shrill and loud a whistle as you can manage.” He would have told her to hoot like an owl, but something told him that she wouldn’t be able to muster enough volume to be heard.

She nodded. “Understood,” she said before turning to head into the woods.

Before she could take more than two steps, however, Fili called out to her. “Baylee.” As he rode over to her, he reached inside his coat and pulled something from a hidden pocket. “Here. Take this—just in case.” Leaning over, he held out one of his many sheathed knives.

“Thank you,” she told him, a nervous smile on her lips. She tucked the knife away into her own pocket before turning and, hoping she wouldn’t have need of the blade, hurried into the underbrush.

“W-w-w-wait! She shouldn’t be going in there alone!” Bilbo stammered, his voice barely audible from the back of the group. “What-what-what if something happens to her?!”

“Ah, she’ll be fine,” Bofur assured him. “She’s sneaky enough that, even if somethin’ were out there, it probably wouldn’t see her.”

His words did little to comfort Bilbo. “ _You_ can say that so easily, but you’re not her _father_!” He clenched his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should be out there with her.”

“Give her a chance,” Bofur chuckled. “Fili gave her a knife, so she’s got at least a wee bit o’ protection.” He then shook his head. “Anyway, don’t you think we would already know if there were something unsavory in the woods? The ponies wouldn’t be as calm as they are. They can sense danger, you know—just the slightest whiff o’ something off an’ they’re as skittish as can be.”

“But you don’t know that,” Bilbo grumbled. “We could be upwind of whatever danger’s out there!”

“You worry too much,” he said, his brow rising in amusement. “You hobbits have good hearing, aye? Better than us dwarves. Give the area around us a good listen an’ tell me if you hear anything that doesn’t sound right.”

Muttering to himself, Bilbo shut his eyes again and did what Bofur told him to do. Hobbits did have good hearing (better than dwarves and men, but not even a quarter as good as elves) but it took a bit of concentration. There were layers to the sounds they could hear and most hobbits had learned to outright ignore anything that wasn’t immediately around them.

In Bilbo’s case, he could hear, first and foremost, the hushed conversations of the dwarves around him. They were complaining to one another about how wet and tired and hungry they were, so he started to concentrate on the next layer of sound, which was the breeze and how it lightly shook the branches of the trees and bushes around them. Droplets of water fell from their leaves, their needles, and their strands of moss. And beyond that, he could hear the faint sound of Baylee muttering to herself; she was too far away for him to make out just what she was saying, but she didn’t sound scared or worried—in fact, she sounded fairly annoyed.

‘Probably because she’s got mud between her toes,’ he thought. ‘She’s always hated that feeling…’

“Well? What do you hear? Anythin’ that makes you want t’ scamper off into the woods?” Bofur asked after a few minutes.

A defeated sigh left the hobbit’s mouth. “No…Just her talking to herself.” He lurched forward in the saddle somewhat as Bofur suddenly patted him on the back.

“See? Ya overreacted for no reason!” he grinned. He leaned backwards against the bags and parcels strapped to the pony’s flank, tucking his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes.

Sighing again, Bilbo slumped back as well, a pout on his lips. “If you were a father, you’d probably overreact, too.”

“Hm. Don’t think so.” Opening an eye, he glanced over at the hobbit. “Alright, _maybe_ if ever I had the honor o’ havin’ a daughter I’d be a wee bit overprotective like you. But sons?” He shook his head. “Naw, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Even if she were a—were a-a Balbo instead of a Baylee, I’d still be worried about her,” Bilbo mumbled. “She’s got too much Took blood in her for her own good.”

He looked at the hobbit again; like the rest of the group, he had often heard Bilbo grumbling to himself about his and Baylee’s Took blood and how it was, apparently, nothing but trouble. “You know that’s not her fault, aye?”

“I know, I know…It’s mine and Ambrosia’s fault.” He shook his head and looked up at the darkening sky. Despite not hearing anything worrisome, he was still anxious. “Baylee can’t help that she’s got more Took than Baggins in her, but _I_ can’t help but be afraid it’s going to get her into real trouble one of these days.”

“Or maybe it’s going to get her _out_ of real trouble one of these days.”

His brow rose and he turned back to Bofur. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is plain as day, lad,” he chuckled. “You keep thinkin’ it’s going to get you into trouble, but one day, it might do the exact opposite.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to argue against that, but it was then that Baylee came hopping out of the underbrush. She had mud all over her front and even some on her chin—she must have tripped, he thought. A small sigh left his mouth; if there were any streams nearby, they weren’t safe enough for her to wash off in. She may have to remain covered in mud for some time.

“I found an abandoned farmhouse!” she chirped. Bilbo was surprised she was in such good spirits when she was so dirty. “I looked it over; it’s in quite the state of disrepair, but it’s dry inside and there’s room enough for all of us. There’s even a paddock for the ponies nearby.”

“How far is it from here?” Thorin questioned, his brow rising when he saw the mud all over her.

“Not too far—maybe about three hundred yards. But you might have to lead the ponies on foot; there isn’t much of a clear path between here and there.” She pushed her skirt and petticoats down slightly, her nose scrunching up when she saw just how much mud covered her front.

“Was there a pigsty that you happened to fall into?” he joked, dismounting his pony.

Seeing him dismount, the others started to follow suit.

She pouted. “No. There isn’t much light under the trees, so I ended up tripping over a root.” A sigh left her mouth. ‘Good thing I have a spare dress,’ she thought, her brow rising. ‘The trick is finding somewhere that I can change into it without the lads seeing me…’ Tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear, she started to lead the group into the underbrush.

The terrain wasn’t terribly rough, but she was extra cautious of any tree roots or rocks that may have been in their way—she didn’t want to fall in the mud again. Soon enough, they were stepping out of the underbrush and into a small clearing. About twenty yards from them was the remains of the farmhouse; it was only one floor, but the roof looked like it was still intact. Approaching it, they let Dori give the wall a couple of good hits (he was the strongest dwarf in the group) to judge how sturdy the building was. When it didn’t so much as shake, it was deemed safe.

As they stepped in, they found it still fully furnished, as if the owners had just stood up and left it one day years and years ago. The dwarves didn’t seem to mind this, though, finding it a bit fortuitous that they would have an actual table to eat at for the first time in nearly a month.

‘I wonder what Halfast or Prim will say when I tell them about finding a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere like this?’ Baylee thought, standing on her tiptoes as she looked in one of her saddlebags. Her brows furrowed when she didn’t find the dress in the first saddlebag, so she went to the other side of Buttercup and started to search the other bag. ‘I suppose they won’t be as impressed by a farmhouse as they will be with all the castles we’ve seen. Castles mean that an important person lived there—they may have even had their own kingdom!’ Still finding no trace of her spare dress, she pulled down her pack and started to look through it.

“What’re you looking for, dear?” Bilbo asked, coming over.

“The spare dress I packed,” she replied. “I don’t want to wear this filthy thing much longer.” She pulled out her bedroll and the two oil skin pouches as well as the roll of cloth that was her spare underclothes. The only cloth item left in her pack, however, was her spare coat. “What in the…I _know_ I packed a spare dress.”

Bilbo’s brow rose. “Well, unless it’s an invisible dress—which I hope it’s _not_ —it doesn’t seem like you did.” He rubbed the side of his neck. “Come to think of it, dear, I haven’t seen you wear anything but the dress you’ve got on.”

She rubbed the side of her neck as she stood upright. “I think I might’ve confused my underthings for my brown dress,” she sighed. “Looks like I’m stuck in this muddy thing until we reach a place where I can wash it.”

“And just what do you plan on wearing while your dress dries, young lady?” he questioned, his voice stern. “You can’t just walk around in your bloomers and stays around the lads!”

Her lips pursed in a pout, her cheeks turning a bit red. “Da’…you know I would never do that,” she told him. “And even if I _did_ have to resort to that, I do wear a shirt under my stays and I have a coat in here…Not to mention, I could make a temporary dress out of my blanket.” She then shook her head and moved to return her things to her pack.

Bilbo shook his head as well. “If I had any spare clothes, I’d loan them to you,” he told her. “As it is, though, I barely had time to grab anything before I ran out of Bag End.” When she had everything back in the bag, he plucked it off the ground and started to carry it into the farmhouse for her.

As the two of them walked in, they were greeted by the sight of Gloin and Oin just getting a fire started. Fili and Kili were still outside, along with Nori and Dori; the four of them were gathering up the ponies to take to the pen Baylee had spoken of. Bombur, meanwhile, was already working at cutting up vegetables for dinner.

With a small sigh, Baylee went to go find a spot where she could lay out her bedroll. She looked around, seeing that Bilbo had already laid his out near the hearth; on the other side was Dwalin’s bedroll. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t tempted to move it out of the way and put her own down in its place, but as the large dwarf walked past her, the thought quickly left her mind.

‘That’d be asking for a death sentence,’ she thought, walking around in an attempt to find a place to put her things. ‘It seems this place was a bit smaller than I thought…then again, it only looked bigger because there weren’t thirteen dwarves in it already…’ A small sigh left her mouth when she found that the only spot she could really fit was in the corner furthest from the fire. ‘…I’ll just try to stay as close to the fire as I can until it’s time to turn in.’

Laying out her bedroll, she pondered if she would have any fighting lessons that night or if the princes would be in too sour of a mood from the weather. She supposed not, though, given how tired and grumpy everyone else looked. Reaching into her pack, she grabbed the oilskin bag that held her jerky. As she opened it, she was greeted by the smell of cherrywood smoke and her eyes closed in momentary bliss.

‘Thank you, Halfast, for giving me all of this.’ Pulling out a few pieces, she closed the bag once more and tucked it back into her pack. ‘I wonder how he’s doing? I wonder how Prim’s doing for that matter…she’s probably furious with me for just up and leaving without a word to her. I’ll definitely bring her back some sort of pretty jewelry as an apology if I can—probably a necklace; she’s always had a soft spot for those. I wonder if there’s anything Halfast would like…? Maybe I’d be able to find him a handsome new cleaver…?’

Standing up, she wove her way around the dwarves and made her way to the hearth. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt the heat of the flames beginning to warm her skin. Wanting to stay out of the way, she sat down off to one side, making sure she curled up into enough of a small ball that Bombur or someone else wouldn’t trip over her. She took a bite of her jerky as she let her eyes fall shut, enjoying the heat. After being out in the cold and the rain all day, it was a refreshing change of temperature.

It seemed like only a few minutes had passed by when someone gave her a small shake. Stirring, she opened her eyes and yawned. “What is it…?” she asked, not looking to see who had roused her just yet.

“It’s dinner time,” came her father’s voice. Turning her head, she found him looking down at her with some concern. “You’ve been asleep there for nearly two hours, dear. Are you feeling alright?”

“Two hours? Yavanna’s grace, it felt like I only closed my eyes for a moment.” She stretched, a little grunt leaving her mouth as she felt her back pop. “I’m feeling fine, though, da’. I just wanted to warm up after being in the rain all day.” She smiled reassuringly at him before standing up.

“Aw, why’d you wake our little mouse, Bilbo?” Ori chuckled.

“Yeah, she was adorable over there, all curled up and warm,” Nori joked. “Are you going to make her return to her cold nest in the corner?”

Bilbo pouted as the others started to playfully scold him as well. “Because it’s dinner time and the little mouse needs to eat,” he said, wagging a finger at them in an almost fatherly fashion. He then paused, realizing he had joined in with calling his daughter a mouse. Glancing over at Baylee, he gave her an apologetic smile.

“Speakin’ of eatin’,” Bofur interrupted, bringing two bowls of soup over to him. “Can you take these t’ Fili and Kili for me? I need to make sure Bombur doesn’t go in for fourths.”

“I’ll come with,” Baylee offered. When Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, she quickly said, “Right now, I feel like I’m going to fall back asleep at any second. The night air _might_ wake me up enough to get a bowl of soup in my belly before I pass out again.”

Unable to argue with her logic, her father nodded and handed her one of the bowls. “Alright, but as soon as you pass the bowl off to one of those lads, it’s right back here for you.”

She nodded in understanding and moved to follow her father as he left the farmhouse. When they left the warmth, a small shiver ran down both their spines as they were greeted by the cool night air.

“Was I really asleep for _two_ hours?” she asked, her brows furrowed slightly.

“Mhm. I watched you sit down, take a bite of jerky, close your eyes, and not move for two whole hours.” He stepped over a rock, having just barely seen it in time to do so. “At first, I thought you were just savoring the warmth of the fire, but when Nori crept over and stole some of your jerky, I knew you had to be asleep. You even slept through Bombur accidentally dropping his giant spoon next to you.”

She pouted. “Nori stole my jerky?”

“Don’t worry, he made sure to share it with Dori and Ori. They were quite the fans of it.”

“Of course they were—it was cherrywood smoked. You’d have to be crazy to not like it.”

His brow rose as he looked at her. “Ooh, a parting gift from young Mister Pott?” He then blinked, realizing that he had caught her in the middle of stealing a taste from the bowl. “Baylee Baggins, are you stealing some of Fili or Kili’s soup?” he said in a mock scolding tone.

A cheeky grin came to her lips as she let the spoon fall back into the bowl with a small ‘plop’. “I was just wanting to make sure it didn’t need anything! And it doesn’t, mind you. It’s quite good. What is that that Bombur used? Tarragon?” She laughed as Bilbo reached over and lightly tousled her hair.

“It’s not tarragon. He used thyme,” he chuckled. He then let out a sigh, keeping his vision on the ground in case there were any more hidden rocks. “He’s been gone an awful long time…”

“You mean Gandalf?”

“Yes. We don’t know when he disappeared from the group or why…or even how long he plans on being gone. For all we know, he’s simply abandoned us.”

“I doubt that’s the case,” she told him. “He’s a wizard, right? You told me that they’re pesky folk who are always getting themselves into trouble or bringing trouble along with them. So let’s just hope he’s getting _himself_ into trouble and not bringing it with him.”

His brow rose. “I did say that, didn’t I?” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “That day feels like it happened years ago, yet barely a month has passed.”

“It’s hard to keep track of the days when you’re out in the open like this, isn’t it?” she chuckled. “I reckon it’s around May 24th by now.”

“You always had a better mind for remembering dates.” He smiled down at her before looking up to find the princes standing ahead of them. “Fili, Kili, we’ve brought you some food,” he said as he and Baylee came to stand alongside them.

The pair of dwarves didn’t seem to acknowledge them at first, not moving as the bowls of soup were offered to them.

“Fili? Kili? Is something wrong?” Baylee asked, her brows furrowing when she saw them staring out into the night.

“We’re supposed to be lookin’ after the ponies,” Kili stated.

“Only, we’ve encountered a small problem,” Fili then told them.

“We had sixteen.”

“Now there’s fourteen.”

The two finally looked down at the hobbits, finding that it was their turn to be staring out into the darkness.

“Daisy’s missing,” Baylee told them.

“So is Bungo,” Bilbo added. “Shouldn’t we let Thorin know?”

“Ah, no, no,” Fili said quickly. “We thought, as our official burglar an’ Mouse-Lass, you two may like to look into it.”

Frowning, Baylee bit her lower lip and glanced over at Bilbo. “We…could give it a shot. Perhaps part of the pen’s fence was broken and they just wandered off?”

Bilbo sighed, finally passing off the soup to Kili. “Let us hope.”

Passing the bowl off to Fili, Baylee followed Bilbo. As she looked around, she could see a few fallen logs, though, to her, nothing looked very suspicious about them. She continued further forward, her eyes narrowed slightly as she thought she spotted something in the distance.

Her father, however, could see that the logs were newly overturned, as their leaves were still bright green and he could smell the sap from the freshly broken branches. He could also just _barely_ make out what looked to be giant footprints in the wet earth. Gulping, he looked over at the princes.

“Something big came through here,” he stated. “Something big enough to rip these trees up…Which means, it’s probably dangerous.”

“That’s what we were thinking,” Kili solemnly agreed.

“There’s a light!” came Baylee’s voice. “It looks like some sort of fire!”

Hurrying to catch up with her, the three of them soon found her crouched behind a fallen log—one that _wasn’t_ recently put there. Joining her, they squinted through the night as she pointed out the glowing speck in the distance. Bilbo swallowed hard as he saw something _massive_ move in front of the light.

“What is it?” Baylee squeaked.

Fili looked over at the two hobbits, a bit of fear and worry on his face. “Trolls.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update for both hobbit fics because today is my birthday! If I were a dwarf, I would be coming of age (30) today. Also, it's purely coincidental that the chapter 8s are going up on August 8th XD

Fili hopped over the log and darted forward, with Kili following shortly after. Both left their dinners behind, the bowls sitting atop the log. When Baylee started to scramble over the tree to follow them, Bilbo reached out and grabbed the back of her dress. She squeaked as he pulled her back down to the ground.

“ _You_ are staying right here, young lady!” he ordered in a loud whisper. Pointing a stern finger at her, he hurriedly climbed over the log and went after Fili and Kili.

Baylee, of course, didn’t listen—which she would later come to greatly regret.

“He’s got Myrtle and Minty!” she heard Bilbo whisper as she approached the three males. “I think they’re going to eat them! We have to do something!”

“Yes, the two of you should,” Kili agreed. As he spoke, he reached over and, grabbing Baylee, brought her around in front of him.

“Wh-what!?”

“Mountain trolls are slow and stupid!” Kili continued, now taking Bilbo’s shoulder as well and starting to guide the two forwards. “And the two of you are so small—”

“N-No, no, _no_!” He glanced over, his eyes widening in horror. “Baylee, I _told_ you to stay—”

“They’ll never see either of you!” Kili promised, ignoring Bilbo’s protests. “It’s perfectly safe; we’ll be _right_ behind you.”

“If you run into trouble, hoot twice like a barn owl, once like a brown owl,” Fili instructed. Unlike Kili, Baylee could hear hints of uncertainty in his voice.

Bilbo nodded shakily. “Twice like a-a barn owl, twice like a b-brown—once like a brown…? Are you sure this is a good—” He turned around to look at Fili and Kili only to groan in disappointment when he saw that they were gone. “Confounded dwarves!” he whispered in frustration.

Baylee bit her lower lip, looking up at the trolls in a mixture of horror and wonder. They were huge, with grey skin that looked similar to bleached leather. One of the them wore a vest and loincloth, another wore what looked to be an apron, and the third wore only a loincloth. Both hobbits were quite thankful the trolls seemed smart enough to clothe certain extremities, though they were unaware that they were also smart enough to have names, which were William, Bert, and Tom, respectively.

And then, the trolls took them by surprise: They started _talking_.

“Mutton yesterday, mutton t’day, an’ blimey—if it don’t look like mutton again tomorrow!” Bert grumbled. The two watched as he shoved what looked like a shovel into a huge cooking pot, giving its contents a stir.

“Quit yer gripin’,” Tom snapped. “These ain’t sheep—fuzzy enough t’ be, though. These is West Nags!” He put the ponies down in a makeshift pen before going to sit on a tree stump near the fire.

“Oh, I don’t like ‘orse,” William whined. “I never ‘ave! Not enough fat on ‘em.”

Bilbo and Baylee started to creep their way around the trolls and towards the ponies. Both barely made as sound as they moved through the underbrush, as was typical of hobbits, who could be just as silent as elves when they had to be. Whenever they _did_ make a sound, however, they would stop and crouch low to the earth in case one of the trolls looked over.

“Well, it’s better than the leathery ol’ farmer,” said Bert. “All skin an’ bone, he was. I’m still pickin’ bits of him out o’ me teeth.”

Baylee’s eyes widened; part of her wondered if these three were the reason the farmhouse was abandoned? Surely not, though—it looked like it had been abandoned a century ago.

William suddenly sneezed; as he did such, there was a loud splash. “Oh, that’s lovely, that is!” the cook grumbled. “A _floater_!”

“Might improve the flavor!” laughed Tom.

“Ah! There’s more where that came from!” William started to hock up another ‘floater’ and Baylee covered her mouth as she felt her stomach churn threateningly. She glanced over just in time to see Bert grab him by the nose.

“Oh no you don’t,” he snarled, throwing him down. “Sit down!”

Shaking her head, Baylee looked over at her father only to find him gone. Her brows furrowing, she saw that he had already made it over to the ponies. She did her best to hurry towards him, suddenly thankful that her dress was covered in mud—it dulled the yellow color and made her less likely to stand out. To her relief, she was soon crouching beside Bilbo, her hand gripping the side of his jacket.

“I can’t untie these,” he whispered, pointing at the thick ropes holding the pen closed. “We’ll need a knife.”

“I have one!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out Fili’s knife. “It’ll take a little work, though.”

He shook his head. “We’ll never get through with that, even if it is sharp. The ropes are too thick. We need something bigger.”

William suddenly let out a squeal of pain, causing the two to jump. They looked over at the trolls again, their hearts racing. They saw that Bert had grabbed William by the nose only to throw him down onto the ground once more.

“I said _sit down_!” he growled.

“I’m starvin’! Are we ‘aving ‘orse tonight or what?” Tom grumbled.

“Shut yer cakehole! You’ll eat what I give yeh!”

William sniffled slightly before reaching behind him and grabbing a filthy handkerchief that had been tucked into his belt. As the cloth was pulled away, the hobbits could see a makeshift knife in his belt. Judging by its size, it had once been a sword for an elf or a human, but the blade had been shoved into a large branch, making a better hilt for the troll.

“Stay here,” Bilbo ordered in a harsh whisper. “I mean it this time, Baylee. _Stay here_.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, crouching low to the ground. Fili’s knife still in her hand, she bit her lower lip and glanced down at it. ‘Yavanna, please don’t make me use this tonight,’ she thought, drawing it from its sheath.

“I’m just sayin’,” the cook complained, “a little appreciation would be nice. ‘Thank you very much, Bert.’ ‘Lovely stew, Bert.’ How hard is that?” Baylee was more than a little surprised that he had a name—though she should have known better. If they were intelligent enough to have conversations, they were intelligent enough to have names. She watched Bert take a sip of his stew, making her stick her tongue out in disgust. “Hmm…it just needs a sprinkle o’ squirrel dung.”

She felt her stomach churn again and she forced herself to both look away and pay attention to a different set of sounds: the ponies behind her. They uneasily paced back and forth in the pen, wanting to get as far away from here as possible. She couldn’t blame them—the trolls fully intended to eat them. It didn’t help that their nerves were making hers worse, though.

‘If we survive this, Prim and Halfast will _never_ believe me,’ she thought. Her brows furrowed as she watched Bilbo creep ever closer to William. He tried to reach for the knife, but just before he could grab it, the troll stood and unceremoniously scratched its hindquarters. She almost laughed as she saw Bilbo’s face turn a light shade of green, but the worried whinny of a pony startled her into silence.

But then, William reached behind him for his handkerchief. Baylee nearly cried out as she watched him grab not only his handkerchief, but Bilbo as well! The troll didn’t seem to notice, however, as he brought his hand to his face and sneezed into what he thought was his handkerchief. Baylee cringed as she saw thick tendrils of troll snot start flowing down off her father’s arms.

As he pulled his hand away from his face and saw what he held, he cried out in fright. “Argh! Blimey, Bert! Bert, look what’s come out o’ me ‘ooter!” he shouted, holding Bilbo out at arm’s length in a mixture of disgust and fear.

“What is it?” Tom asked as he got up. Peering over William’s shoulder, his face contorted in confusion and disgust.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like the way it wriggles about!” William practically threw both Bilbo and his handkerchief to the ground.

Baylee swallowed hard as she saw her father wince when he pushed himself upright; she knew he had to have gotten some sort of injury in that fall. As he scrambled to his feet, his front covered in a layer of troll bogeys, she could see that he was holding his shoulder and there was pain on his face. But as he looked up, the pain was, understandably, replaced by panic.

‘What do I do?’ she thought. ‘What do I _do_?!’ Her eyes darted around, looking for anything that could work as a distraction to help her father.

“What are you then? An oversized squirrel?” Tom demanded, stalking closer to the hobbit.

“I-I-I’m a burglar—ah, a hobbit!” Bilbo stammered.

“A burglahobbit?” William repeated.

Baylee glanced at the (currently unattended) cooking pot. It was just sitting atop the burning logs, barely balancing in place. Seeing one of the pieces of wood jutting out a ways, she bit her lower lip. It went right under the middle of the pot; if she could knock it askew…

‘Sorry da’,’ she thought, tucking the knife in her pocket before darting forward.

Making sure to stay behind the three trolls, she kept herself crouched low to the ground. As she came upon the branch, she stole a look at the trolls; they were still focused on her father. She pushed on the wood, silently cursing when it barely budged. Hopping up, she let her full weight push down on it. This time, it did move, but barely—it had only been enough that the pot tilted to the side a bit.

‘What a lovely time to be a Mouse-Lass!’ she thought in frustration. She jumped again and again and again, each time moving the pot just a little bit more. Looking at her father, she gulped, having been just in time to see William try to snatch Bilbo. As he ducked out of the way, she jumped up one last time, trying to put extra force into the push as she came down.

And, somehow, it worked. As she came down, the pot finally tumbled forward, its hot contents flowing out over the feet of the trolls. They cried out in pain and start to hop about while Bilbo did his best to steer clear of them. He tried to make his way over to his daughter, who was picking herself up after landing in a heap on the ground, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. Bert spotted her and lunged forward, snatching her up.

“Baylee!” he cried, his feet suddenly rooted to the spot.

That gave Tom time enough to reach out and grab him by the leg. “Gotcha!” he grinned. “Two burglahobbits then? Are there any more o’ you lil’ fellas ‘iding where you shouldn’t?”

“N-Nope!” Bilbo stammered, trying to twist himself around so he could see where his daughter was.

“He’s lyin’!” William hissed.

“No, he’s not!” Baylee squeaked. “We’re the only two burglahobbits!” She tried to wriggle her arm free of Bert’s grip, but it was hard, considering she was also trying to draw the knife from her pocket.

“This one’s smaller than that one,” Bert said, holding her up so he could get a better look at her. A smirk then spread across his lips. “Ah, but she’s got a decent bit more meat on her bones!”

“Ooh, can I have a taste?” William begged. “I promise I won’t take more ‘n a leg!”

“Get your own burglahobbit,” Tom scolded. “There’s bound t’ be more out there.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Nope, no more! We’re the last two burglahobbits in Middle Earth!” he hurriedly told them. “Which means you really _shouldn’t_ eat us! You wouldn’t want us to go extinct in such a cruel fashion, would you?”

The trolls looked at one another, as if they were trying to figure out just what he was saying.

“You won’t have time t’ go stinky,” Bert told him, quite matter-of-factly. He felt the small hobbit wriggling in his grip, but was unaware that she had managed to get her arm free or that she had a dagger in her hand. “We’re goin’ t’ make sure o’ th—” He suddenly howled in pain as Baylee slammed the knife into his hand, its sharpness making it slice through his tough skin with ease.

She had expected him to simply drop her. Instead, though, he haphazardly flung her away from him. It was her turn to cry out as she flew through the air; she could hear Bilbo shouting. With a dull thud, she hit the ground, tumbling and rolling many yards through the underbrush before coming to a hard stop against a tree trunk.

Pain filled her body, most of it being dull aches that she could handle, and even ignore, with little complaint. But in her left eye, there was a nearly unbearable sharp, scratching pain. She clapped her hands over the eye, whimpering softly. Nothing _felt_ wrong against her palm; at least, there was nothing poking out of her eye and she could still move it, but it was extremely painful to do such. She could, however, feel blood beginning to roll down her palm and wrist, telling her she had some sort of cut.

Baylee could hear the sounds of battle taking place little more than fifty feet away, and she finally forced herself to sit upright. Keeping one hand over her eye, she weakly pushed herself backwards against the trunk of the tree. Just on the other side of some holly bushes, she could see the dwarves fighting the trolls.

Despite the pain, part of her found herself in awe of how the dwarves seemed to be in sync with one another. She watched Dwalin throw himself to the ground and, from across the area, Thorin came sprinting. He leapt onto Dwalin’s back only to be tossed further into the air as Dwalin bolted upright.

But then, just seconds later, everything came to a halt and she had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Bert and William had a hold of Bilbo, each one holding a leg and an arm.

“Lay down your arms!” Tom ordered. “Or well rip ‘is off!”

Baylee kept her hand over her mouth, watching and hearing as the dwarves gave up their weapons. ‘What can I do?’ she thought. ‘I-I need to do something! Anything!’ Feeling herself beginning to panic, she clenched her eye shut and tried to keep her breathing even—a hard feat, considering how much pain there still was in her eye. ‘The trolls have da’ and the lads were just forced to surrender…None of them have weapons now. _I_ don’t have a weapon now. I can’t even properly use a weapon! Valar help me, I’m useless…’

Opening her eye again, she could see that just William was now holding her father while Bert was gathering up the dwarves’ weapons. Where Tom had gone, she didn’t know. Bert gave orders to the dwarves to take off their armor and clothes; when they initially refused, William gave Bilbo a squeeze that made him cry out in pain.

“You lot be’ave just as badly as those West Nags,” he grumbled when they finally started to disrobe.

Her good eye widened. ‘Wait. We still have twelve ponies,’ she thought. ‘I could—I could use them as some sort of distraction!’ She then bit her lip. ‘But what if we lose—No. A few dead ponies are better than thirteen dead dwarves and a dead da’.”

Forcing herself to her feet, she had to hold onto the tree for a moment as her head spun. With a shaky breath, she finally pulled her hand from her eye; though it was still in a great deal of pain, she could still see out of it.

Well, _sort_ of.

Everything on her left was now quite blurry.

She started to make her way back towards the farmhouse, though that meant having to go around the trolls. That made the trip both slow going and perilous; Tom was still nowhere to be found and he could pop up at any minute from anywhere. The pain in her eye sought to be another distraction for her as well, with the scratchiness having faded into dull throbbing.

‘You can fight through this, Baylee,’ she told herself. ‘Remember the time you broke your arm? You don’t have _nearly_ as much pain as you did then—at least, in most of your body.’

If she hadn’t needed to go around a troll encampment, had two good eyes, and it was the middle of the day, she would have made the trip to the farmhouse in just a quarter of an hour. As it was, however, it took her much longer. The combination of sneaking around earlier and then getting thrown in a random direction left her rather puzzled as to which way was the right way. Twice, she wandered off into the brush only to realize she had found the _wrong_ way and was forced to return to the trolls.

After nearly an hour, she stumbled out of the brush to find the farmhouse a few yards away from her. A small, relieved sob left her mouth; not only had she finally found the farmhouse again, but the pain in her eye had subsided a great deal. She hurried forward into the building and knelt beside Bombur’s pack.

She started to dig through it in hopes of finding his cleaver. Even if her plan of creating a diversion with the ponies worked, she would still need something sharp just in case and Bombur’s large cleaver was the only thing she knew she could handle.

Finding the knife, she slightly grinned and quickly shoved it into her pocket. While doing such, she silently thanked Primrose for giving her the dress pattern with extra-large pockets. She stood up, glad to find that her head didn’t spin this time, and headed back outside.

As she reached the pony pen, however, she was met by only _two_ of the twelve ponies that should have been there.

“No,” she whimpered, trying to look through the darkness for the others. “No, no, no! Where did they go?!”

Frantically, she made her way around the outer edges of the pen, hoping to find at least one of the missing ponies. She found none, however, and ventured a bit deeper into the forest to look for them. It took her a great deal of time, but she searched both high and low (well, as high as a hobbit of her stature could look) for any sign of the ponies.

But they were gone, having more than likely been spooked by the trolls’ yelling.

Sinking to her knees, she rested her forehead against one of the fence posts. “This is horrible,” she whispered, unconsciously hugging herself. “Here I am, the only one _not_ caught by those brutes, and I can’t even do anything to help the others because of how small I am…” She sniffled, feeling tears beginning to form in her eyes. “Some Mouse-Lass I am.”

Clenching her eyes shut, she let out a yelp that was a mixture of shock and pain. As the tears welled up in her injured eye, they made the stinging come back with a vengeance. Her hands clapped over her eye again, but that only made things worse, as they pushed the tears further into whatever wounds she had.

She let out some _extremely_ unladylike words.

“Why does it hurt so bad?!” she choked out before a quiet sob left her mouth.

“Why does _what_ hurt so bad, Miss Baggins?”

Gasping, she spun around only to find Gandalf walking towards her. “G-Gandalf! You’re back!” she cried. “Oh, Yavanna’s grace, you’re back! There are trolls, Gandalf! Three of them! They-they-they have the others; they threatened to pull da’ apart—”

The wizard held his hand up, silencing her. “Please speak slower, Miss Baggins. You hobbits can talk faster than my ears can listen.”

She nodded. “S-Sorry,” she said, one hand unconsciously starting to run along her braid. “Fili and Kili were supposed to be watching the ponies, so da’ and I brought them dinner. When we got out there, we were told that two of the ponies had gone missing, so we went looking for them. In the middle of looking, we saw a fire in the distance. As we headed for it, a troll crossed out path, carrying two more of the ponies!”

Once more, he held up his hand. “Say no more, Miss Baggins. Can you take me to where the trolls are?”

“Y-yes, I can,” Baylee told him. She got to her feet, not even bothering to straighten out her petticoats as she started to lead him through the underbrush. More than once, she stumbled and nearly toppled forward onto her face.

She prayed it was just the darkness and her panic making her trip and _not_ her eye.

When they were within sight of the troll’s camp, Gandalf grabbed her shoulder, stopping her. The two of them could see that five of dwarves, now left in nothing more than their shoes and long-johns, had been tied to a spit and were slowly being turned over the fire. The rest had been tied up in bags and were piled up near the base of one of the rock piles.

“Now this _is_ quite the predicament,” Gandalf murmured. “I have a plan, but it may take some time, as I’m not sure how long until dawn comes.”

“A-alright. What do you need me to do?” she asked, looking up at him. She quietly gulped; he was a fair bit taller than her, making her feel even smaller.

At that, he shook his head. “I need you to stay out of sight, Miss Baggins,” he told her. “Not only are you injured, but you’re much too small to provide any sort of protection to them should my plan go awry.” Looking down at her, he gave her a reassuring smile. “That is not to say you are useless, however—this is just not the sort of situation where you would be most useful. Now please, stay here and stay quiet!”

Before she had a chance to say anything in reply, Gandalf turned and hurried off into the underbrush. With a quiet sigh, she bit her lower lip and crept forward a bit more so she could at least get a better look at the camp. Being too short to see over the bushes, however, she lowered herself onto her knees and crawled forward a bit until she could see the group.

“Don’t bother cookin’ them,” William grumbled. “Let’s just sit on them and squash them into jelly!”

Bert scoffed at the suggestion. “They should be sautéed and grilled with a sprinkle o’ sage,” he told him, sounding quite sure of himself.

“Ooh, that _does_ sound quite nice,” William agreed.

“Untie us, you monsters!” Oin snapped. Baylee could see him and the others struggling against the sacks they had been shoved into.

“Take on someone your own size!” Gloin shouted.

The trolls ignored them. “Never mind the seasonin’,” Tom grumbled. “We ain’t got all night! Dawn ain’t far away, so let’s get a move on. I _don’t_ fancy bein’ turned to stone.”

A few seconds passed before Bilbo suddenly cried out. “Wait!” he called. “Wait, wait, _wait_! You are making a _terrible_ mistake!”

“You can’t reason with them!” Dori cried. “They’re half-wits!”

“Half-wits!?” Bofur repeated. “Then what does that make us!?”

If she weren’t filled with fear, Baylee would have giggled at his comment.

It was a bit of a struggle, but Bilbo managed to get to his feet, awkwardly turning around so that he could face the trolls. “Uh, I meant with the-the-the, uh, with the seasoning!” he told them.

Bert scowled down at him. “ _What_ about the seasonin’?”

“Well, have you smelled them?” questioned the hobbit. “You’re going to need something _far_ stronger than sage before you plate this lot up.”

The dwarves started shouting at him, calling him a traitor. Some of them even managed to kick him.

‘Oh no, don’t do that to him!’ Baylee thought, biting her lower lip. ‘Yavanna’s grace, he’s trying to _help_ you!’

“What do _you_ know about cookin’ dwarf?” Tom demanded. “You don’t look like you eat ‘em.”

Bert dismissively waved Tom off. “Shut up an’ the, uh…the flurgaburra’obbit talk.”

Bilbo gave him a smile that was both a mixture of thankfulness and nervousness. “Uh, the-the secret to cooking dwarf is, ah—”

“Yes? Come on!” Bert interjected, his excitement evident.

“It’s, uh—”

“Tell us the secret!”

“Yes—yes, I’m _trying_ to tell you!” Bilbo scolded. Baylee knew that tone well; he was irritated and ready to deliver a lengthy scolding if the trolls didn’t stop interrupting him—or the dwarves didn’t stop yelling at him. “The secret _is_ …is to…to skin them first!”

She clapped her hands over her ears as the dwarves burst out into a fit of even louder yells and curses. What she didn’t realize was that the movement had caught someone’s attention. As her eyes scanned the area for any sign of Gandalf, she instead felt a gasp stop halfway in her throat as she found Thorin glaring directly at her.

He slowly mouthed an order to her, making sure it was obvious what he was saying. _Get over here. Now._

Biting her lip, she glanced back at her father, finding him still talking with the trolls. Gandalf had told her to stay put and she knew better than to disobey a wizard. At the same time, however, the intensity of Thorin’s glare left her too intimidated to _not_ follow his orders.

She crawled backwards, out of the bush, and stood up. Doing her best to hurry, she made her way around some holly bushes—part of her wondered if these were the same ones she had been thrown through—before stepping out of the safety of the underbrush. She kept herself low to the ground as she scampered towards the rocks where the dwarves were piled up.

“Mouse-Lass, what does your father think he’s doing!?” Thorin hissed as she knelt beside him, pressing herself against the rocks.

“I-I think he’s just trying to bide time,” she whispered.

“ _Bide time_? Bide time for what—the others to get golden brown and crispy!?” He looked back over at Bilbo, seeing him standing in place while the trolls bickered among themselves.

She winced at his tone; no one had spoken that harshly to her before. “N-No, of course not! Why would you think such a thing!?”

“He’s giving them _cooking_ tips, Mouse-Lass. He’s turned on us!” He blinked as he suddenly felt his ear get flicked.

“Don’t you _dare_ go thinking my da’ is some sort of—some sort of traitor!” she harshly whispered. “He’s trying to _help_ you, whether it looks like it or not. I know you’re scared for your life and the others’ lives, but that’s _no_ reason to accuse a friend of—” A small squeak left her mouth and she quickly ducked behind the rock as William stalked over and picked up Bombur.

“Nothin’ wrong with a bit of raw dwarf!” he said, dangling him high in the air. “Nice an’ crunchy!” He started to lower Bombur towards his mouth.

“Not-not-not that one!” Bilbo cried. “He’s-he’s, ah, _infected_!”

Tom, who was turning the spit the rest of the dwarves were tied to, looked at the hobbit with a from. “You what?”

Bilbo quickly nodded. “Y-yes, he’s got worms. In his—his tubes.”

Baylee heard a thud and groans of pain as Bombur was dropped back into the pile.

“I-in fact, they all have it!” Bilbo continued. “They’re absolutely _infested_ with parasites. It’s a terrible business. I wouldn’t risk it—really, I wouldn’t.”

Peeking around the edge of the rock, Baylee could see the trolls once again distracted. She slipped back around, giving Thorin a small nudge. “They said they’ll turn to stone in the sunlight,” she whispered to him, her voice just barely audible over the shouting of the dwarves. “Da’s trying to buy time until it’s dawn! And Gandalf’s out there somewhere—doing what, only the Valar know…”

His eyes widening in realization, Thorin suddenly kicked Kili and Oin. The two looked up at him in confusion before a matching look of realization came to their faces.

“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!” Oin called out.

“Mine are the biggest parasites!” Kili cried out. “I’ve got _huge_ parasites!”

As the company started to proclaim how large and how plentiful the parasites in their tubes were, Thorin felt some movement near his chest. He looked down, finding Baylee’s hands starting to untie the thick ropes. He turned his head to face her only for his brows to furrow deeply; her face was stained with both mud and blood—her left eye looked especially bad.

“Mouse-Lass, what happened to your eye?”

She looked up, eyes wide. “Wh-why? How bad is it?”

Though there was only firelight to see by, Thorin could tell that there was some sort of damage done to her actual eye as well as the skin around it. What was supposed to be the white of her eye was completely red with blood. “…If we survive this, Oin will definitely have to look at it,” he answered after a moment.

“I don’t like the sound—” She went quiet as a figure across the way caught her attention: Gandalf. He stood atop another pile of rocks, looking down at the camp.

Tom suddenly reached out and poked Bilbo in the chest, drawing her attention back to her father. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to?” the troll growled. “This little ferret is takin’ us for fools!”

“Ferret!?” Bilbo cried, and rather indignantly at that.

“Fools?” Bert questioned, ignoring the hobbit. “’Ow is he takin’ us for fools?”

“When ‘ave you ever heard of dwarves having tubes _or_ parasites?” Tom replied. “That’s right—Never! ‘E’s just tryin’ to get us to _not_ eat his friends.”

William grumbled and stalked forward with the intent of grabbing Bilbo. “Then I says we eats him first!”

As the trolls began to argue, Baylee got the rope of Thorin’s sack untied. She helped him pull the opening loose before sneaking over to help untie Balin.

“Oi! _I_ get that flurgaburga’obbit,” Tom snapped, leaving the spit and shoving William aside. “You can go an’ find that small one Bert threw. Should be nice an’ tenderized after a toss like that.”

“Don’t you touch _my_ flurgaburgala’obbit,” Bert snarled. “She shoved a knife in me—it’s only fair I gets t’ eat her.” As he spoke, he looked down at his hand, which had dried black blood coating a good portion of it. “Now let’s do _something_ with these dwarves. Dawn’s gettin’ closer an—”

From atop the rocks, a voice bellowed out. “The dawn will take you all!”

The trolls turned, looking up to find an old man in grey robes standing over them.

“Who’s that?” Bert questioned.

Tom shook his head. “No idea.”

“Can we eat ‘im, too?” William asked, excited by the prospect.

Raising his staff, Gandalf brought the butt of it down atop the rock. A large crack formed down its middle, splitting it clean in half. The two halves fell aside, letting the bright, morning sunlight spill into the area. Momentarily, the hobbits and dwarves were blinded by the intense light. The trolls began to holler in pain as their skin began to solidify and turn to stone.

When their eyes got used to the light, everyone found that the trolls were nothing more than three stone statues now. The dwarves let out a victorious cheer, calling out their praises to Gandalf.

Having gotten Balin untied, Baylee scrambled to her feet and made her way to Bilbo, stumbling over Fili on her way there.

“B-Baylee! You’re alright!” her father gasped. “I thought for sure—I thought you had—” As soon as the knot had been undone, he loosened the bag enough so that it fell to the ground around his feet. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Baylee and pulled her tightly against him. “I thought he might’ve killed you,” he whispered.

She clung onto him, feeling tears welling up in her eyes; for now, she could ignore the stinging in her left one. “No, he didn’t kill me,” she replied, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “But he did bruise me up quite a bit.” Sniffling, she gave him an extra squeeze. “How’s your shoulder? You landed on it fairly hard.” From the corner of her good eye, she could see Thorin and Balin hurrying towards the fire.

“It hurts like there’s no tomorrow, but I’ll live.” He kissed the top of her head before leaning back and looking down at her. The relieved smile on his lips quickly faded and his eyes widened in horror. “B-Baylee, your-your-your eye!” His hands cupped her face, gently forcing her to tilt her head back a bit more so he could look at it better. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no, _no_ …Where’s Oin!? We-we-we need to have him look at it!”

“Still tied up, da’, like the others,” she told him. She bit her lower lip; there was something wrong with it, that much she had known, but her father’s panic made her stomach churn with worry.

“Th-then let’s get him untied,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

“We need to get _all_ of them untied,” she told him. “He should also look at your shoulder—if it hurts as bad as you say, then it could be sprained or something could be fractured. I saw that fall; you landed _hard._ ” Before he could reply, she returned to the pile of dwarves in sacks where she knelt beside Fili. He had been stuck laying face-down the entire time, so the _second_ she had the sack loosened, he kicked himself free of the burlap.

“Thanks, Baylee,” he said before scrambling to his feet and hurrying over to the fire, where Thorin and Balin were scattering the coals.

It took nearly half an hour to free all of the dwarves, though it took an extra fifteen minutes to find where their clothes and weapons had been dumped. Another half hour was spent sorting through said items and matching them to their owners. As the time passed, the sky above grew lighter and lighter.

The moment Oin was dressed, Bilbo dragged him over to Baylee in order to get her eye looked at. “Oh, now this doesn’t look pretty. Not pretty at _all_ ,” he commented, gently turning her head left and right to get a better look at it. “There’s definitely some sort o’ damage to the eye, but as for the area around it, it’s too caked in blood an’ mud t’ tell.” He made a disappointed clicking sound with his tongue as he shook his head; his words made Baylee’s stomach start twisting and churning all over again. “I’ll need t’ get it cleaned up before I can make any final assessments.”

“Will she still have sight in that eye?” Bilbo questioned.

Oin held his hearing trumpet to his ear. “What’s that lad?”

“Will she still have sight in that eye?” he repeated, louder this time.

Baylee swallowed hard. “I _can_ see out of it, but everything’s blurry,” she told them.

Oin’s brow rose slightly. “Everything’s _furry_?” he incorrectly repeated. “Now that’s a new one—I’ve never heard o’ someone’s sight going furry before!”

“No, _blurry_ ,” she told him again, voice also a bit louder. “Everything’s _blurry_ in this eye!”

“Ahh, now _that_ makes sense!” he said. He looked over at Thorin, who was speaking with Gandalf. “Thorin, I’m takin’ the lass back t’ the farmhouse. I need my medicine kit if I’m t’ do any sort of treatment.”

Thorin nodded in understanding. “Fili, Kili—go with them,” he told his nephews. “Master Burglar, Bofur, Nori, Gloin—you’ll be coming with me and Gandalf.”

“G-go with you?! When my daughter’s sight is on the line!?” Bilbo spluttered in disbelief.

“She’s in quite capable hands, Bilbo,” Gandalf assured him. “And she’ll have the princes with her should anything go wrong. Now come; we’ll have need of your burglaring skills.”

He stared at the wizard incredulously. Just as he was about to refuse the summons, he felt a hand on his arm. Looking over, he saw Baylee giving him a reassuring smile—or, at least, she _tried_ to give him one.

“Go ahead, da’,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

“But-but-but I should be there with you! What-what if you find out Oin can’t fix your eye or-or-or something worse?”

Though his words made her nausea even worse, she kept the reassuring smile on her lips. “Da’, I’ll have Fili and Kili there with me. If anything goes wrong, one of them can run off to get you.”

He nodded slowly, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. “…Alright,” he finally said, his tone defeated. “Alright. But you had best send one of them right away if there’s bad news.”

“We will, da’.” She watched as he reluctantly turned around, moving to follow Thorin and Gandalf. Turning herself, she started to follow Oin.

Fili and Kili soon came up on either side of her, their brows furrowed. “What happened to you, Baylee?” the former asked.

“I’m…not sure, to be honest,” she sighed. “When I got snatched up by that troll in the apron, I managed to get my arm and your knife free. Thinking he’d just drop me, I stabbed—” She squeaked as her foot caught on a rock, making her stumble. Kili caught her before she could fall. “Th-thank you.”

“Is your foot alright?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s the part of me that hurts the least,” she replied with a sigh. “As I was saying, I stabbed the troll in the hand. Instead of dropping me, though, he threw me.” Biting her lower lip, she started to look at the ground more often so she could avoid any obstacles. “I must have tumbled through some brambles or a bush or _something_ —I don’t know. I just know that I rolled at least twenty feet before a tree stopped me.”

“You could have gotten a branch to the eye, then,” Fili told her. “Or even a rock. It’s hard to tell; it’s all red with blood.”

“…Is it really?”

Kili nodded. “Yes, it is. And it looks like you might have some skin missing from parts of your eyelid.” He saw Fili give him a warning look before glancing down at Baylee; the poor thing had gone quite pale and was nervously stroking her braid. “… _But_ it could also just be some dried blood and mud!” he quickly added. “In fact, it’s probably just dried blood and mud.”

“I’m sure that Oin will be able to fix whatever’s wrong,” Fili told her, his words more reassuring than his brother’s. “He’s a great healer—I once saw him reattach three of someone’s fingers.”

“…What happened to the other two?” she dared to ask.

“Eh, we’re not sure. We think one of the hogs ate his thumb, though.”

“Hogs will eat anything, you know,” Kili told her, his tone quite factual.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yes, they will. That’s why pig farmers have to be careful—especially when their livestock is thrice as big as them.” Still stroking her hair, she risked looking up to find that they were almost back to the farmhouse. “A few years ago, an older pig farmer went missing…only thing ever found of him was his right glove in the middle of his pigsty. After that, all his hogs were turned loose because no one wanted to eat pigs that had, most likely, eaten a fellow hobbit.”

The brothers wore similar looks of disgust. “…Let’s hope that was the only hobbit they ever ate,” Fili said with a small chuckle.

“Or, perhaps, there are now murderous pigs out in the wilds of the Shire, just waiting to find the next unsuspecting hobbit,” Kili grinned, his voice taking on a dramatic flair. “How many hobbits have gone missing since the pigs were set free?”

She snorted, lightly nudging him. “Very funny, Kili,” she told him. Her brow rose slightly only to quickly lower again as it made her eye area ache.

Soon enough, the four of them were in the farmhouse. Oin sent Kili out to fetch some water from the well while he had Fili dump the now-burnt soup from the cooking pot, freeing it up to boil some of the water. He then told Baylee to sit on the dining bench as he fetched his medicine kit from his belongings.

“Now, lassie, I wish I could tell you that this’ll be painless,” he said once he had bowls of both hot and cold water beside him, “but I can’t. There’s no tellin’ what sort of damage you’ve got hiding under all that grime. I’ll be as gentle as I can.” He pulled some dried herbs from a pouch and rolled them between his hands over the bowl of hot water. Their broken leaves fluttered down into the water and, soon, released a pleasant scent.

Swallowing hard, she nodded and did her best to steel herself for whatever pain was about to come her way. She watched Oin dip a clean cloth into the hot water before squeezing out most of the excess. He instructed her to close her eye for now and she so. A quiet hiss of pain left her mouth when she felt the first few drops of hot water land on her skin and she gripped the edge of the bench.

Oin did as he said—he was as gentle as he could be. But as the protective layer of dirt and dried blood was removed, the stinging got worse and worse. Soon, Baylee’s knuckles were white and her nails were digging into the bench while pained whimpers left her mouth. What was even less comforting was the grim look that had come to his face.

“This is definitely goin’ to leave a mark,” he told her. “A layer or two o’ skin was taken off o’ most o’ your eyelid and some from your cheek, as well.”

“H-How bad will it scar?” she asked.

“No, no—I won’t be usin’ any tar t’ fix it.”

“ _Scar_ , Oin,” Fili said, practically shouting into his bad ear. “How bad will it _scar_?”

“Oh! Quite badly, I’m afraid.” He then grabbed the bowl of cool water, which had gone untouched until now, and a clean cloth. “I’m goin’ to flush your eye now,” he explained to the hobbit. “Again, I don’t know if it’s goin’ to hurt or not, but there’s a strong chance it will. From what I can see right now, you’ve got a big scratch right across the front o’ your eye.”

She nodded shakily and took a deep breath. Tilting her head back, she opened her eyes as wide as possible; it was difficult keeping her injured eye open thanks to the light making it sting horribly. She felt Oin press the cloth to the side of her face and she watched him raise the bowl over her head.

A cry of pain left her mouth as the water hit her eye and she instinctively lurched backwards, her eyes clenching shut. Though Oin had only trickled the water onto her eye, it had felt like a searching hot knife was driven into it.

“I’m sorry, lass, but I need t’ flush it more,” Oin told her, the grim expression back on his face. “I barely got any water in it—not nearly enough t’ give it a proper rinse.”

Fili and Kili glanced at one another before moving to sit on either side of her. “Here,” Fili said, taking her hand, “you can squeeze our hands.”

“It’ll help keep you from lurching,” Kili added.

Again, she nodded and, swallowing hard, she leaned forward once more. It took a great deal of willpower to open her eye again and, as she did, she tightly gripped Fili and Kili’s hands. Tilting her head back, she held her breath as Oin made to pour more water in her eye. Another cry left her mouth, but rather than lurching away, she forced herself to stay upright and her eyes to remain open.

Fili winced slightly; for a small hobbit lass, she had a surprisingly strong grip. His own eyes were shut, as any injuries having to do with eyes left him feeling squeamish and fidgety. When he felt her grip finally loosen, he dared to open one eye to look at her. She was pale and shaking while there were tears streaming from her good eye.

With the eye now as clean as he could get it, Oin saw that much of the blood remained behind, trapped in her sclera. “The blood should go away in a few days, so nothin’ much t’ worry about with that. But…Hm. Lass, could you cover your good eye an’ tell me what everything looks like?”

Shakily doing as he instructed, she looked around. While she could see, everything was comprised of colorful, fuzzy blobs; her heart started racing in fear. Turning, she looked at Kili, seeing that she could _somewhat_ make out the line of his jaw—at least, she _thought_ it was his jaw. His entire head was a dark mass with a pale dot in the middle. Facing Fili, she found it nearly impossible to distinguish any of his features thanks to all the similar colors on his face.

“Everything’s just blobs of color,” she said, having to speak a little louder, even though Oin was holding his ear trumpet up. “I-I-I can’t tell what anything is! Fili and Kili are right next to me and I can’t tell their nose from their eyes!”

“Calm down, lassie,” Oin told her, his voice a bit gentle. “The front o’ your eye is badly scratched up—which is why everything’s blurry. There’s not much I can do with it, especially with the supplies I’ve got. The most I can do is treat your injuries around the eye an’ wrap a bandage around it, I’m afraid.”

“W-will it get better?” she asked. “Will I get my sight back?”

At first, she and the princes thought Oin hadn’t heard her. He lowered his hearing trumpet and walked over to his medicine kit, where he grabbed some bandages and a small pot. They watched as he opened it to make sure it was the right one. Just when Baylee was about to ask him about her sight again, he looked up, his face more somber than before.

“I can’t lie, lassie. There’s a good chance that the eye will go completely blind,” he told her. “Or worse—I may have t’ remove it.”


	9. Chapter 9

“I found it! I found the cave!”

Bilbo followed Thorin as he hurried in the direction of Bofur’s voice. With every other step, he winced; there was a deep, dull ache in his shoulder that became a sharp, stinging pain whenever he stepped too hard with his right foot. In an attempt to keep the pain to a minimum, he held his arm against his chest and did his best to limit its movement.

Soon enough, the two were standing beside Bofur in front of the entrance to a cave. Bilbo’s nose scrunched up in disgust. There was a putrid smell coming from the entrance and he could see a mixture of bones and half-decayed animal carcasses hanging from the roof of the cave.

“Ugh…I don’t suppose those trolls knew anything about proper housekeeping,” he murmured, using his right arm to wave the scent away from his nose.

Bofur laughed. “Now whoever heard o’ a troll who kept a clean cave?” He glanced over as he saw Nori, Gloin, Gandalf, and—surprisingly—Dwalin approaching.

“What is that _stench?_ ” Nori gagged, pinching his nose shut.

Gandalf glanced down at him. “This is a troll hoard…be careful where you step and what you touch.” He entered the cave first, thankful that the ceiling was high enough that his hat didn’t touch it.

Thorin followed next with Bilbo following after him. The hobbit pulled a handkerchief (stolen from Baylee) from his pocket and covered his mouth and nose with it. Looking around, he could see all sorts of items stacked against the walls: Barrels of alcohol, crates filled with clothes, coins littering the floor…It seemed that the trolls rather enjoyed taking and stashing away their victims’ belongings.

Seeing a torch, Thorin grabbed it. “Ah, good…We could use some light.” He held it out to Gandalf, who, using a bit of magic, set it aflame.

The further they got into the cave, the less horrible the smell got and the more precious the hoard became. Bits of armor and various weapons were piled up in a corner, entirely covered by cobwebs. Coins and jewelry were piled against the base of the wall, also covered in years’ worth of dirt and grime (at least, Bilbo _hoped_ it was dirt). Bofur, Nori, and Gloin were instantly drawn in by the monetary treasure and they began to gather it up into a small chest while Dwalin stood by, his arms crossed over his chest and an annoyed look on his face.

“These swords were not made by any troll.” Thorin’s voice drew Bilbo’s attention back to the end of the cave.

Gandalf took the sword that Thorin offered him. “Nor were they made by any smith among men.” He drew the blade from its sheath a few inches, his eyes widening slightly. “These were forged in Gondolin…by the high elves of the First Age.” Bilbo’s brow rose slightly as he saw Thorin start to put his sword back; Gandalf, too, saw it. “You could not wish for a finer blade!” he scolded, sheathing the sword.

Stepping forward, Bilbo started to curiously sort through the weapons. Many of them were swords that were almost as long as he was tall. There were a few bows as well, though they didn’t seem to be in as good of condition as the swords. He also found a pair of shields, though both of them were far taller than him.

‘Shame,’ he thought. ‘Baylee and I could use some shields, since we’re not fighters…Though, I suppose we could both hide behind one of these large things.’

Grumbling to himself, Thorin copied the wizard and drew the blade out a few inches. It was hard to read his expression, especially when only half his face was lit by the torch, but it seemed that he was satisfied with the sword’s quality. He sheathed it once more and turned away from the rest of the weapons. “Let’s get out of this foul place,” he said to the two of them. Walking past them, he didn’t even glance down at the others, who had buried the chest in the ground. “Come on, let’s go. Bofur! Gloin! Nori!”

Bilbo watched as they scrambled to their feet and followed after Thorin. Stepping out into the sunlight once more, he blinked against the sun’s brightness. He was about to follow the dwarves further away from the entrance, where the air was better, when he heard his name.

“Bilbo.” Turning, he saw Gandalf walking towards him. “Here. This is about your size.” He held out what, to the hobbit, looked like a short sword. To non-hobbits, it was little more than a knife, however.

His brows furrowed. “I can’t take this,” he told the wizard. He didn’t _want_ to take it, either—he wasn’t a warrior. He didn’t even know how to _use_ a sword; Nori had been teaching him how to use a pair of knives.

“The blade is of Elvish make,” the wizard told him, ignoring his words for now, “which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby.”

“But I’ve never used a sword in my life,” he protested.

“And I hope you never have to.” He placed the weapon in Bilbo’s hands. “But if you do, remember this: True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.” He set his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze before walking away.

Just as Thorin and Gandalf had done, Bilbo unsheathed the sword. The blade looked as if it had just been polished; he could see himself in it like a mirror. Etched into the steel were a set of elvish runes, but what they said, he hadn’t the slightest idea. Despite being a weapon, he found it quite lovely to look at.

‘If I survive this adventure, it would look quite nice on my bedroom wall,’ he thought, sliding it back into the scabbard. Wiping off the cobwebs, he then wrapped the belt around his waist—a painful task thanks to his injured shoulder. He then moved to join the others, who were starting to make their way back in the direction of the farmhouse.

Halfway to the farmhouse, however, they were greeted by the rest of the company gathered around the foot of a craggy wall. They wore grim looks and, resting on the ground, was everyone’s packs.

“The ponies bolted,” Fili said when they approached. “When the trolls stole the first four last night, they left a big hole in the pen’s fence. Baylee said that she had tried to look for them when it was still dark, but there wasn’t any sign of them. We looked again and there was still no sign.”

At the mention of his daughter, Bilbo looked around for her. He started to panic when he didn’t find her right away, but when Oin moved forward to speak with his brother, he found that she had been standing behind him. A relieved sigh left his mouth and he hurried over to her.

“Da’!” She smiled up at him as he came over and returned the hug he gave her. “How was the cave? Did you find anything interesting?”

“Never mind that for now,” he said. “What did Oin say about your eye?” He leaned back and looked down at her to see a bandage wrapped around her head.

Her smile faltered and she swallowed hard. “…He—he said there’s a good chance I won’t get my sight back,” she told him, her voice quiet. “…He might even have to remove it if worse comes to worst.”

His eyes widened in horror. “Wh-what?!” he cried. “Why?! It didn’t look _that_ badly injured when I saw it! It looked rather bad, yes, I’ll admit that, but not enough to warrant going blind!”

“He said that the front of my eye was scratched up fairly bad,” she explained. “The blood will go away after a few days, but the scratches are deep and there’s not much he can do with the supplies he has.” She buried her face in his uninjured shoulder. “And the area around it is going to have some ugly scars.”

Closing his eyes, he held her close. “My poor girl,” he murmured, his hand resting on the back of her head. He felt like this was all his fault; if he had just been firmer with her and made her stay home, contract or not, this would have never happened. “I’m sorry.”

“It could be worse,” she mumbled, voice a bit muffled by his shoulder. “He could have had to remove it…With how painful it was to just _rinse_ it, I don’t want to imagine how bad that would have been.”

He cringed at the thought. “I suppose that’s one way to make a grim situation seem less so,” he sighed. Kissing the top of her head, he looked over at the others. They all wore somber expressions as they discussed what to do now that they had no ponies.

Baylee frowned, tilting her head slightly. In the distance, she could hear a strange noise—like something heavy being dragged quite fast across the forest floor. “Da’…do you hear that?” she asked.

He cocked his head, listening to the sounds around them. Hearing the dragging sound, too, his brows furrowed. “It’s getting closer…Oh no—” Turning towards the others, he called out, “Something’s coming this way!”

“And it sounds big!” Baylee added.

Bilbo ushered his daughter forward, not wanting her at the front of the line should some sort of fight break out. As they moved, Bilbo glanced over at Thorin as he drew his new sword; it didn’t glow blue. Thinking, perhaps, it was just his sword that would glow blue if there were orcs around, he checked his.

It also wasn’t glowing.

Seeing him check the sword, Baylee’s brows rose in surprise; of all things she thought she would see her father wearing, a sword was not one of them. “Did you find that in the troll cave, da’?” she asked, drawing him from his thoughts.

“Hm? Oh, y-yes. Well, actually, Gandalf did.” Swallowing hard, he gently pushed her behind him. “Stay back there, dear.

This time, she did listen to him. As she heard the dragging getting even closer, she pressed herself against the rocky wall of the crag, crouching down slightly to make herself even less obvious. Her heart started to race again and she bit her lower lip.

‘Yavanna, _please_ don’t be something we have to fight,’ she thought. ‘Please…’

It seemed that luck was on their side—for now. What came barreling out of the underbrush wasn’t some monstrous creature, but rather, an old man on a sledge drawn by at least eight huge rabbits. Seeing the group, he brought the rabbits to a halt.

“Radagast!” Gandalf cried, a mixture of surprise and relief in his voice. “Radagast the Brown, what on earth are you doing here?!”

“I was looking for you, Gandalf,” the other wizard replied, speaking quickly. As he hopped off his sledge, he grabbed Gandalf’s arm and led him aside.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Baylee stood upright and stepped away from the wall. She looked over at her father in time to see him flinch as he sheathed his sword and she frowned. “Da’, you need to have Oin look at your shoulder,” she told him, her voice firm.

“Even if there was something wrong aside from a bit of bruising, there’s not much he could do, dear,” he told her.

“He could, at the very least, fashion you a sling.” Her lips were pursed somewhat and she had her hands on her hips as if she were scolding a child. “You shouldn’t be moving that arm much. Especially with how bad it’s making you flinch like that.”

Bilbo found himself unable to keep a straight face; he hadn’t seen her try to scold him like this in a long while. “Baylee, dear, I’m not a child. Scolding me like that isn’t going to make my shoulder any less injured.”

“No, but having it in a sling, at the very least, _will_ help it become less injured.” Shaking her head, she let out a heavy sigh. “Please, da’? I know you don’t like being fussed over, but I’m going to keep fussing—”

From somewhere in the distance, an eerie howl broke through the still air. Everyone went quiet for a few seconds, hearing more howls answer.

“W-Was that a wolf?” Bilbo stammered. “Are—are there wolves out there?”

Bofur quickly shook his head, his eyes wide in fear. “Wolves? No, that is no wolf.”

Baylee frowned. “If it’s not a wolf, then that means—” She spun around as she heard a crack only to let out a small cry as she saw a massive, snarling creature racing down the hill towards them. Grabbing Bilbo, she pulled him back against the wall just in time to avoid being hit by the warg.

Dori, however, wasn’t so lucky. Trapped under the warg, he barely had time to react as the massive, snarling jaws came rushing towards his head. Thorin jumped forward, drawing his elvish sword. He slammed the blade into the creature’s neck with a sickening crunch, killing it instantly—and before it could harm Dori.

An arrow flew past Thorin and he looked over his shoulder to see a second warg come tumbling down the hill at them. When it hit the bottom, it got to its feet only to be promptly knocked back down as Dwalin brought his hammer down on its skull. He had hit it hard enough that shards of shattered bone had torn through the skin.

“Warg-scouts!” Thorin called out, wrenching the sword from the first warg’s neck. “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.” He was about to help Dori push the corpse away, but Dori managed it on his own.

“Orc pack!?” Bilbo squeaked.

Gandalf hurried over. “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?” he demanded.

“No one,” Thorin replied.

“Who did you tell!?” Gandalf demanded again, his voice more urgent.

“No one, I swear!” Thorin snapped. “What in Durin’s name is going on!?”

A grim look came to the grey wizard’s face. “You are being hunted.”

“We have t’ get out of here!” Dwalin cried.

“But we can’t! We have no ponies, remember?” Ori replied, his voice more like a whimper.

Radagast stepped forward, a determined look on his face. “I’ll draw them off,” he told the group.

Gandalf looked at him in horror and disbelief. “These are Gundabad wargs!” he said. “They’ll outrun you!”

A challenging smirk came to the brown wizard’s lips. “These are Rhosgobel rabbits,” he retorted. “I’d like to see them try.”

* * *

Within half an hour, the company found themselves hiding behind a large rock at the edge of the forest. Just on the other side, they could hear the barking and snarling of wargs and the foul language of their orcish riders. Also on the other side of the boulder lay a wide, rocky plain. It was perfect terrain for the warg riders and horrible for the company.

There was suddenly a loud, merry laugh and the group knew that Radagast and his rabbits had just run past. Peeking out from their hiding spot, Gandalf watched as the group of fifteen or so wargs and riders took chase after his friend, none of them remaining behind. When they were far enough away, he motioned for the company to follow him.

No one in the company could ever remember running so much for so long in their lives, let alone running with so much stuff on their backs. Gandalf led them across the plain, pausing only once in a while to take a moment’s shelter behind a boulder. But they didn’t have time to catch their breath before they were off again.

The whole while, Radagast was leading the warg pack around the plains, trying to both wear them out and keep them from finding the company’s trail.

More than once, Baylee found herself stumbling. She wasn’t sure if it was because of exhaustion or the uneven ground, but she was thankful that she caught herself before she could fall—especially since, like the others, she held a weapon (if Bombur’s cleaver even counted as such) at the ready should they be found and attacked.

The next time they came to a stop, though, she nearly toppled to the ground. Her lungs burned and she was breathing so hard, her mouth had gone completely dry. Every part of her hurt; as she glanced at the others, she could tell that they were feeling much the same.

Someone patted her on the shoulder. Looking up, she found that it was Fili. Unable to speak due to his panting, he gave her a small, concerned head tilt. Also unable to talk, she merely gave him a small nod.

“Come on! Quick!” Gandalf ordered and, once again, they were off.

As she ran, Baylee tried to keep track of where the pack was. In the distance, the company could both see and hear the pack as they chased Radagast. More than once, it looked like the wargs were getting closer to them, but the wizard would lead them away again.

‘If I survive this,’ she thought, ‘Prim and Halfast aren’t going to believe me when I tell them about it.’

The rock formations around them started to become fewer and far between now. Ahead of them, they could see trees growing and the ground had less rock formations. It would provide little in the way of cover, but the ground would be easier to traverse.

For both the company _and_ the wargs.

It was Thorin who brought them to a halt this time. Taking shelter behind the last, large set of rocks, the company struggled to catch their breath. Above them, they suddenly heard the scratching of claws on rock and grunting.

All at once, the group forced themselves to quiet their breathing.

Baylee watched as Kili drew an arrow from his quiver. He got it ready to fire before taking a few seconds to steady his breathing even further. Stepping away from the boulder, he took aim and fired. He quickly drew a second arrow, firing it into the orc.

The warg and its rider came tumbling down the side of the rock and landed on the ground, but neither was dead. Baylee felt herself freeze up as the orc started to get to its feet just a few yards from her; it was far uglier than she could have ever imagined, with mottled grey skin and a wide, flat face. Its mouth was filled with sharp teeth that looked like they could bite through solid bone.

Beside it, the warg was growling and snarling as it struggled to its feet; one of its legs had been broken in the fall. It was quickly knocked back down as Bifur lunged at it with his spear. Bofur joined in, bashing it with his mattock.

Dwalin hit the orc with his hammer, sending it flying forward. It landed on its face just feet from Baylee.

‘Don’t just stand there! Go for its tendons, you useless thing!’ her mind shouted.

Forcing herself to take the opportunity, Baylee darted forward. Gripping onto the cleaver for dear life, she brought it down on the back of the orc’s knee with a good deal of force—at least, a good deal for a hobbit of her size. Being that Bombur was very good about keeping his cooking knives sharpened, the cleaver cut through muscle and tendon with great ease; it even sank into the bone a little bit.

The creature howled in pain and, as it started to thrash, Baylee yanked the knife out only to bring it down again. This time, however, she brought it down on the back of its thigh. Beside her, Dwalin brought his hammer down again on the orc’s back, but despite the disgusting crunch it made, the orc continued to thrash. Lifting his hammer yet again, he brought it down on the orc’s head.

Baylee looked away just in time to avoid the gruesome sight.

Knowing their position had been compromised, Gandalf called out for them to start running again. With a renewed sense of vigor, the company took off. They ran hundreds and hundreds of yards, praying that they would be able to find some form of safety in the tree cover. The barking and snarling of the wargs was getting closer and closer by the minute.

At first, the sounds came from only one direction, but as the company reached the tree line, the sounds started to spread out. Soon, they could hear snarling coming from every direction.

“There they are!” Gloin called out, panic in his voice.

“This way! Quickly” Gandalf shouted, leading the group towards a more open part of the field.

They hadn’t run much further—only a couple dozen yards—when they realized that their luck had run out. More and more wargs were coming from seemingly nowhere.

“There’s more coming!” Kili shouted, drawing an arrow.

“Kili!” Thorin called out. “Shoot them!”

“We’re surrounded!” Fill cried.

Their lungs burning, Bilbo and Baylee ran towards the defensive circle the dwarves were forming. They were almost there when Baylee let out a squeak and tumbled forward, the cleaver flying from her hand. Through all the commotion around them, Bilbo didn’t hear her and was left unaware that he was very quickly leaving his daughter behind.

Thinking some _extremely_ unladylike words, Baylee groaned and started to push herself upright. As she did such, she glanced over her shoulder only to start saying the unladylike words out loud.

There was a warg less than fifty yards from her.

Scrambling to her feet, she started to run towards the others, who were now gathered around a set of boulders. Thorin stood atop one of the smaller rocks, his elven sword in one hand while the other helped the company, one by one, disappear behind the stones.

“Mouse-Lass! Kili!” he shouted. “Hurry!”

She tried to push her legs to go faster, but they wouldn’t listen. Behind her, she could hear the thumping of the warg’s paws every time they hit the ground. A cry left her mouth as her foot caught something and she was once more sent falling forward.

But it was fortuitous that she had fallen: Right at that moment, the warg had leapt forward, intending on making her its snack. Instead, though, it slammed into the rock near Thorin and quickly got a blade to the brain.

Baylee tried to get up again only to stumble forward onto her knees. It was then she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist and easily lift her up. She didn’t have time to see if it was Kili or Thorin who held her as he ran forward and hopped over the rock. On the other side was a steep, smooth rock wall that they were now sliding down. When they hit bottom, the two found themselves in a well-hidden tunnel; Baylee glanced over and saw that it had been Thorin who had grabbed her.

“Th-thank you,” she wheezed.

His reply came in the form of a small nod as he gently pushed her onto her feet before getting to his own.

Above them, a strange horn blasted shortly followed by pained yelps and growls. Thorin and Baylee moved away from the base of the wall just in time to avoid being hit by an orc’s corpse as it came rolling down, an arrow in its throat.

Bilbo pulled his daughter to him, hugging onto her tightly. Still breathing heavily from all the running, he couldn’t say anything. If he could speak, however, it would have probably resulted in may curse words being said due to the intense, fiery pain in his shoulder.

After many minutes of regaining their lost breath, the company began to stir. Though their limbs were as heavy as lead, they got back to their feet and started trying to somewhat stretch to keep their muscles from seizing up.

Venturing further into the tunnel, Dwalin came to a halt some yards away. “I cannot see where the pathway leads,” he called back. “Do we follow it or no?”

“Follow it, of course!” Bofur desperately replied. Without another word, he hurried after Dwalin and was quickly followed by the others.

The tunnel, it turns out, was long and narrow. At some points, Bombur had to be pushed through by those who followed behind him—and that was _with_ sucking in his gut. Eventually, though, walls grew farther and farther apart until they parted completely to reveal a wide, open ledge. The group came to a halt on the cliff and, as Gandalf and the hobbits came closer, they could hear the dwarves making quiet sounds of awe; when she and Bilbo stepped out of the tunnel, Baylee could see why.

Before them lay a beautiful valley filled with evergreen trees and waterfalls. At the far end of the valley, built across the tops of a handful of the falls, were elegant buildings and bridges. From where they stood, it looked as if the buildings had been shaped from the very stone they sat upon.

“Wait ‘til Prim and Halfast hear about this,” Baylee murmured, her eye wide.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf state as he looked out over the sight. “In the Common Tongue, it’s known by another name.”

“Rivendell,” Bilbo breathed, his eyes wide in wonder and a large smile on his lips. He had always loved elves and elvish things, so to find himself about to seek refuge in an elven town was a dream come true.

The wizard nodded slowly. “Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea,” he told the group.

“This was your plan all along,” Thorin quietly hissed. “To see refuge with our _enemy_.”

Baylee frowned and turned her head slightly. She had never heard of elves being the enemies of anyone except the forces of evil.

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf scolded. “The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.”

“You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?” Thorin countered. “They will try to stop us.”

“Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with _tact_ and respect—and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to _me_.”

Thorin made a quiet noise of distaste, but argued no further. Instead, he brushed past the wizard and hobbits, moving to lead the company along the cliff.

While walking along the path, Bilbo looked back at Baylee. “Isn’t it beautiful, dear?” he asked her. “I’ve always wondered what elvish architecture looks like and now I’ll get to find out!” He chuckled, shifting his pack on his shoulders slightly only to wince. Grabbing his left shoulder, he started to gently knead it. “Isn’t it just amazing how everything looks like it was shaped from the land itself?”

She quietly chuckled, glad to see her father so happy after such a harrowing ordeal. “To be honest, da’, I’m more interested in how soft elvish beds are,” she said, earning a few chuckles. “And whether or not they can help that shoulder of yours.” Her whole body ached and her head was heavy; she hadn’t gotten any rest since her nap the night before and, with the adrenaline leaving her body, the exhaustion was beginning to catch up to her. “…And maybe what elvish food is like.”

Frowning, Bilbo looked back at her once more. “That’s right…you didn’t get any dinner last night, did you?”

“No. Just a bite of jerky and a stolen spoonful of soup.” At the mention of jerky, though, she unslung her pack and started to root through it. A small grin came to her lips when she saw that she still had her bag of jerky. She opened it and pulled out a few pieces, popping one into her mouth while the rest went into her pocket. After putting her pack back on, she offered one of the pieces to her father.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, taking the offered piece. “How’re you feeling?” He wished that she could walk alongside him, but there wasn’t much room on the path.

“Like I could sleep for three days,” she admitted with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever run so much in my life.”

“Neither do I,” he agreed, “and that includes chasing after you once you learned how to walk.” He used his teeth to tear a bite from the jerky. “I’m surprised we were both able to keep up with the others…though, I did notice that you were stumbling a lot.” A small frown had come to his face.

She shrugged, thinking nothing of it. “What do you expect? The ground was uneven and covered in rocks. I don’t know how any of you managed to not trip or stumble.” She took another bite of her jerky before lightly tapping the part of her cheek covered by the bandage. It was beginning to itch and, knowing better than to rub it, she knew tapping would be the next best option.

* * *

It took just under an hour to reach Rivendell. It was an easy journey, being mostly downhill with smooth ground and no one chasing after them. The weary dwarves and hobbits were more than a little thankful for this. As they crossed a bridge over one of the many waterfalls, they couldn’t help but look around in awe, as everything looked even more beautiful up close—at least, the hobbits found it beautiful. The dwarves, while impressed by the stonework and the construction of the place, didn’t find the aesthetics to be anything close to their liking.

Coming to a wide terrace, they were met by a single elf, who brought a smile to Gandalf’s face. “Mithrandir,” he said as the wizard approached.

“Ah, Lindir!” Leaving the others behind, he stepped forward to speak with him. As he did so, Baylee stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to get a better look at the elf, but the princes were blocking her view.

“This place is too…too flowery,” Baylee heard Fili quietly tell Kili. “I appreciate plants as much as the next dwarrow, but this…This looks like too much.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it looks _too_ bad,” Kili admitted. “It’d be nicer if there was more stonework, sure, but I don’t find it too bad.” He glanced down, seeing the hobbit lass behind them. Chuckling, he stepped aside so she could move forward. “Here you go, Baylee. Now you don’t have to wear those toes of yours out.”

Her cheeks turned pink, but she gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

But before she could move, the still air was once again broken by the blasting of a horn—the same one from earlier, as a matter of fact. The sound of beating hooves was also heard and, as they turned around, the company could see a group of armed horsemen galloping towards them. Thorin called out something—what, neither Baylee nor Bilbo knew—and the dwarves started to press together in a tight circle.

Soon, the riders had them surrounded, though they made no effort to attack. In fact, they didn’t even pay much attention to the dwarves and hobbits. One of them, however, rode his horse a bit further from the group and more towards the wizard.

“Gandalf,” he said, a broad smile coming to his lips.

Gandalf bowed, a smile on his lips as well. “Lord Elrond!” As the elf dismounted, he spoke with him in a language that the Bagginses had heard a few times before: Elvish. Neither could understand the words spoken, but they rather enjoyed listening to them.

“Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders,” Elrond said, finally speaking in the Common Tongue. “Something—or _someone_ —has drawn them near.” As he spoke, he held up sword that had belonged to one of the warg riders and handed it off to Lindir.

“Ah, yes, that may have been us,” Gandalf admitted, his tone bearing a hint of guilt. He glanced over as Thorin stepped forward.

“Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain,” Elrond said to the dwarf. He wore a pleasant smile, though, to Baylee, it didn’t seem like it entirely reached his eyes.

“I do not believe we’ve met,” Thorin replied, some coldness to his voice.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” explained Elrond. “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed? He made no mention of you.” His replay made Baylee’s eyes widened a bit; if she had said such a thing, Bilbo would have flicked her ear and proceeded to give her the scolding of a lifetime.

Elrond, however, was not Bilbo and paid little attention to the insult. Instead, he turned towards Lindir and said something to him in elvish. This annoyed Gloin, who was tired of not being able to understand what was being said.

“What is he saying?” he demanded. “Does he off us insult?!”

Gandalf, sounding more than a little exasperated at this point, replied with, “No, Master Gloin. He is offering you food.” He was thankful to see the dwarves ease up at this prospect.

“Ah, well…” Gloin murmured, looking quite embarrassed, “in that case, lead on!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, this chapter gets a little illustration~! I literally did this last minute, so it's not my best, but i really wanted ya'll to see just how small Baylee is~!  
> (On that note, if any of you read Azying, go check out chapter 9. I went and added an illustration there, too!)

She wasn’t positive, but Baylee felt that having her eye rinsed out a second time hurt even more than the first.

This time, however, it was Elrond who was rinsing her eye and he wore a grim expression similar to the one Oin had worn that morning. The liquid he used was a mixture of medicinal waters and essences he had combined in a bottle instead of just plain water, which may have accounted for the increase in pain. After a few seconds, he stopped pouring so that he could check her sclera; despite her quick blinking, he was able to see that the blood was beginning to dissipate from her eye, making the area fade from dark red to pink to white over the course of just a few minutes.

“Is-is there anything you can do about her vision?” Bilbo asked, wincing slightly as Baylee squeezed his hand. He badly wished he could take his daughter’s pain away, especially when he heard her let out a small sniffle. “Surely there has to be _some_ way you can bring it back, right?”

“I’m afraid not, Master Baggins,” Elrond told him. Using a cloth, he gently dabbed Baylee’s face dry. “These scratches are deep; deep enough that I’m surprise her eye wasn’t punctured. And I’m afraid the skin around her eye will be scarred from this, as well.” Folding the cloth, he set it aside before looking back at the lass. “Do you know what it was that did this to you, Miss Baggins?”

She shook her head. “I only remember hitting the ground and rolling some ways after the troll threw me.”

He nodded in understanding as he went over to a shelf. Grabbing a second, smaller bottle, he returned to her side. “Head back once again, please.” When Baylee tilted her head back, he opened the bottle and let exactly three drops of the liquid drip down into her eye. Her jaw clenched as she held back a cry. “A puncture is much harder to treat than scratches on the surface. As it stands, however, your eye should heal quite nicely.” He then put two drops of the liquid on both her upper and lower eyelid where the skin was quite mangled.

“Will it go _completely_ blind, Mister Elrond, sir?” she sniffled. The liquid stung quite badly at first, but the pain was quickly fading into an almost pleasant, tingly sort of numbness.

“There is a strong chance, yes,” he answered, “but there is also a chance you’ll retain some vision in it. As skilled as I am in the healing arts, even I cannot predict just how a wound will heal. What I can say with a great deal of certainty is that in both cases, you will find that you have more difficulty watching moving objects and you will no longer be able to judge distance or depth very well—if at all. Because of this, stumbling and falling more often is a very real possibility.” Grabbing a roll of fresh bandages, he began to gently wrap them around her head, being sure to cover the entirety of her eye.

She frowned; so _that’s_ why she had kept tripping…But hearing that she would have difficulty judging distance worried her more than how well she could walk. “…Does that mean I won’t be able to fight?”

At that, Elrond’s brows rose and he glanced between the two hobbits. “You know how to fight, Miss Baggins?” He carefully tied off the bandage, being sure to not catch any of her hair in it.

“N-not very well…the lads have been teaching da’ and me how to fight,” she explained.

“They _insisted_ that we learn,” Bilbo sighed. “And with good reason, I must admit. We won’t always be able to hide ourselves away in case of an attack…as we learned last night and today…”

“To be able to defend one’s self from an enemy is always a good thing to know,” Elrond agreed with a small nod. “You can still use weapons with only one good eye, Miss Baggins, though I daresay it will be twice as difficult. Without the use of both eyes, judging how quickly to block an incoming blow or how far to draw back an arrow will be very tricky…Aiming at moving targets would be even harder.”

Baylee felt her stomach drop as she nodded in understanding. Between remembering the parrying positions and the weight of the weapon wearing her out, using a sword had already been hard enough.

As if sensing her discouragement, Elrond gave her an encouraging smile. “It is possible, however. I knew a few warriors in ages past that had lost an eye in battle. They didn’t let that keep them from fighting.” Hearing the slightest bit of shuffling cloth, he looked at the doorway to find Lindir standing there.

“My lord, your presence is requested in the kitchens,” he said, glancing between Elrond and the hobbits.

Nodding, Elrond turned to leave. “Will you please show the Bagginses to their rooms?” he asked.

A bit of an uncertain look came to Lindir’s face. “Ah…Yes, about that…it’s been requested that the Company of Thorin Oakenshield all share the same quarters,” Lindir told him, clearly confused about this arrangement. “They claim they would feel more at ease this way.”

Again, Elrond nodded; whether he was surprised by this information or not, it was hard to tell. “Understandable. Have pallets taken to our largest guest room as well as blankets and pillows.” He then glanced back to the hobbits. “For the time being, please show the Bagginses to where their friends are.”

Baylee slid off of the bench and started to walk alongside Bilbo as they followed Lindir out of the room. As they walked through the halls of the building, both hobbits found themselves looking around in awe rather than paying attention to the path they were walking. Everything had been built so organically; shapes and designs had been copied from the surrounding flora, giving both beauty and strength to the buildings.

“It’s so lovely,” Bilbo sighed, a smile on his lips. “The Shire is beautiful, but it certainly can’t compare to this.” He looked at his daughter, finding the same wonder on her face. “Wouldn’t it be nice to retire to a place like this one day?” he asked her, chuckling.

“It is beautiful,” Baylee agreed. Seeing how enamored her father was, she felt it best to not admit to him that being here made her feel even smaller. The lofty ceilings, the tall railings—even the statues stood more than twice her height. It made her miss the Shire and how everything there was within reach.

“Imagine how Primrose and Halfast are going to react when you tell them you got to stay in an actual elven town,” he then said. “Primrose, especially, is going to make you describe everything in the greatest detail possible.”

She laughed, her brow rising slightly. “That’s if she’s not too upset with me for leaving without saying goodbye. You know how she’s a stickler for social etiquettes. Breaking a rule as important as saying goodbye before a long trip is a very severe offense, you know.”

He lightly shook his head, still chuckling. “Well, even if she’s too mad to listen, I know for a fact that Halfast will be hanging off your every word…And when he hears about your troll encounter, he’ll probably think you some sort of warrior princess.”

Though his tone had been teasing, Baylee felt her stomach drop once more. “I doubt that,” she replied, managing a normal-sounding laugh. “He’d probably be more concerned with how long the meat he gave me lasted.” Inwardly, she sighed and resisted the urge to raise a hand up to her injuries. ‘That’s even if he’d want to talk to me anymore,’ she thought. ‘I don’t know how bad my face looks right now, but if it’s as ugly as everyone else is saying…Halfast may want nothing to do with me anymore.’

Rounding a corner, the two found themselves being led out onto a wide, open terrace where the rest of the company was already gathered—save for Thorin. Where he was, neither hobbit could see. A set of low tables had been brought out with rounded cushions lined up on either side for the dwarves to sit on. Some of them were already sitting at the tables, looking just a bit too big for the seating arrangement.

“Aha! There’s our hobbits!” Bofur chirped, drawing everyone’s attention.

Baylee felt her cheeks turn a bit pink, but she smiled at the group as she went to go sit on one of the cushions. Bilbo sat beside her, wincing slightly as his arm was jostled.

“What’s the verdict on the injuries?” Dori questioned. “I see you’ve gotten yourself a sling.”

Bilbo nodded. “Ah, y-yes, I have,” he replied. “It seems I have what’s called a separated shoulder. Despite its name, it means I’ve torn or partially torn something in the area. Lord Elrond said it wasn’t horrible, but I should keep my arm in this sling for a couple of weeks to be safe.”

“An’ what about the plucky lass? What’s her diagnosis?” Dwalin asked, his brow rising.

She felt her cheeks turn a bit more pink as she was called ‘plucky’. “Not much different from what Oin told me. There’s a chance I’ll go completely blind in this eye,” she replied. “And the area around my eye is going to scar…I won’t be able to judge distance or depth very well, either.” Glancing around, she found it strange that she couldn’t see as much as she was used to.

“Hm. That’s going to affect your sword training a great deal,” Fili said, a frown on his face. “We may even have to stop.”

Frowning as well, she shook her head. “No, I want to keep learning,” she said, her voice firm. “It’ll be harder, yes, but after what happened last night and this morning…I want to know how to defend myself in case we’re attacked again.”

“It might actually be a bit o’ a good thing you don’t know much fighting yet, then,” Balin told her. “If you were a seasoned warrior, you’d have to learn everything over again. But, being that you’re still fresh to learning how to fight, you can learn right from the beginning how to work around the loss of vision.”

“She could shoot a bow with just one eye,” Kili said. “Fili can teach her swordplay while I teach her archery.”

Bilbo frowned at this. “I-I think I’d like my daughter to only learn _one_ weapon, thank you very much. It’s bad enough she’s having to learn how to use one at all, but learning _more_ than one? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Some of the dwarves shook their heads, making him shrink back slightly.

“It’s good to know how to use more than one weapon, Master Baggins,” Balin told him, his voice gentle. “Which is why both of you were to learn how t’ use multiple weapons over the course of the journey. You never know when you’ll need t’ defend your life and the only thing you have is an oversized soup ladle or a set o’ bolas.”

At the mention of the ladle, Baylee’s eyes widened. Feeling her pockets, she found them to be completely empty, which made her curse—which, in turn, made the dwarves snicker. “Oh, Bombur, I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the large dwarf. “Last night, I took your cleaver so I could protect myself in case the trolls tried to snatch me up again, but I lost it in that field when the wargs were chasing us!”

A reassuring smile came to his lips. “That’s alright, Miss Baylee,” he told her. “I’ve plenty of other knives I can use in its place. Though…why my cleaver o’ all things?”

Her cheeks turned a medium shade of pink and a sheepish smile came to her lips. “It was the biggest and sharpest thing I could find, since the trolls took all of your weapons.” The words earned her a few hearty laughs and plenty of snickers from the group.

“You wielded it rather well,” Dwalin told her. “You knew just where t’ hit that orc to keep him from gettin’ up again.”

“Wait, what?” Bilbo looked at Baylee in shock, which made her turn even more red. “Baylee, what’s he talking about?”

“You didn’t see it?” Dwalin questioned, his brow rising. “When that orc an’ rider nearly got us in the plains, she jumped right in and started hackin’ at the orc’s leg.”

Biting her lower lip, she looked down at her lap and started to unconsciously run her hands along her braid. She had actually entirely forgotten about that orc; with how much had taken place since last night, most things were a blur to her. “I-I’m not sure why I did it, to be honest,” she admitted, her voice betraying her nervousness. “Something just—something just came over me and-and-and I jumped forward. And Fili and Kili are always joking around, telling me to go for the tendons…”

Bilbo rubbed the side of his neck; he already hadn’t liked the thought of his daughter learning to use weapons, but now that he knew that she had actually _used_ them against enemies? He let out a heavy sigh and told himself that everything would be alright—Baylee wasn’t about to become as rough-and-tumble as the dwarves just because she stabbed a troll and chopped an orc tendon. As he looked over at her, a small smile came to his lips.

‘No,’ he thought. He watched her get up and walked around a bit, inspecting the statues around them as well as the plant life. ‘She’s still my sweet little girl. The poor thing doesn’t even look happy about doing what she did, even if it was to try and save her life.’ But then, seeing her injured eye, he felt his stomach drop. ‘She’s going to have those for the rest of her life…if she goes completely blind in that eye, things are going to be far harder for her than if she went only partially blind. Oh, Yavanna’s grace, I hope it doesn’t affect her chances with Halfast, either…Hobbits can be so finnicky when it comes to scars…’

Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin came walking out on the dais, followed by a handful of servants bearing trays of food and bottles of wine. Seeing their arrival, she turned and went to go sit back down. With her original seat now taken by Ori, she moved to sit next to Kili while Bofur sat at the head of their table.

As the servants began to put down platters of food, Baylee both felt and heard her stomach grumble as it reminded her she hadn’t eaten a proper meal since morning of the previous day. And when she saw heaps of roasted vegetables on the trays, a grin started to spread across her lips. It had been so long since she last had roasted vegetables that, as soon as everything was laid out, she started to heap them onto her plate. Using the utensils, though, was a bit of a challenge—everything was bigger than what she was used to, meaning she had to hold her spoon and knife differently from normal.

The dwarves, however, weren’t _nearly_ as enthusiastic about the vegetarian dishes. In fact, most of them were downright annoyed by them.

“Where’s the meat supposed to be?” Bofur questioned, using a knife to poke through the vegetables.

“It might just be a first course,” Baylee told him, cutting up a carrot. She popped a bite of it into her mouth, her eyes closing as the mixture of seasonings and the carrots own sweetness coated her tongue.

“It better be just a first course, because it isn’t much of one,” Dwalin grumbled, throwing a lettuce leaf down onto his plate.

“We’re dwarves, not elves—we need meat,” Nori muttered in agreement.

Baylee’s brow rose slightly; she didn’t see the problem with the lack of meat. ‘Then again,’ she thought, ‘while they do eat some vegetables, they’re mostly in soups or stews…the nights we got fresh, fire-roasted meat, I didn’t even see them eating some of their dried fruit rations.’ Glancing over at the other table, where her father sat, she saw him happily devouring the vegetables as well. ‘Whatever kind of seasoning this is, it’s really good…’ She shoved another, larger bite of food into her mouth.

She looked up as Bofur nudged her. “Don’t eat so fast, lass,” he gently scolded. “You’ll get a stomachache. Anyway, we’re clearly not going t’ be eating much of this, so you’ve no need to worry about running out.” He stabbed a piece of roasted beet with his knife and held it up, a look of displeasure on his face. “Ugh. Beets.” Despite his words, he put it in his mouth and started to chew.

“They’re really quite yummy,” she said, cutting up a beet of her own. “They’re nice and tender…and the seasoning used on them is quite nice.” Before taking another bite, however, she reached over and plucked up her wine glass. She gave the contents a small swirl as Bilbo had taught her and then smelled the drink, finding its scent to be much more fruity than she expected. Perhaps it wasn’t wine, but juice? Taking a sip, she found that it was, indeed, wine, but not like any wine she had tasted.

“Well, now we know what t’ use to catch a hobbit,” Nori snickered. “Lay out some cooked rabbit food.” As he spoke, he picked up his own wineglass. After taking a long drink, he started to carefully look it over, silently appraising its value.

“No, no—it’s not rabbit food,” Kili corrected. “She’s a _Mouse_ -Lass, not a _Rabbit_ -Lass. This is _mouse_ food and, if ever we need to catch another Mouse-Lass, we’ll be sure to sauté up some vegetables for the trap.”

She pursed her lips in a small pout, which was a bit funny looking considering her mouth was full of food. After she finished chewing and swallowing, she stated, “I’ll have you know, the proper way to catch a Mouse-Lass is to lay out any sort of dessert flavored with lemon.” Glancing over at Bilbo, she found him happily eating his vegetables; his head, however, was turned slightly so that he could listen in on the conversation being held between Gandalf, Thorin, and Elrond.

“Lemon desserts, huh?” Bofur repeated, his brow rising slightly. “Must say, I didn’t expect that t’ be your answer. Roast beef, apple pie, mushroom soup—now _those_ I can see bein’ an easy way to lure over a Mouse-Lass. But _lemon_?”

“It’s too tart,” Dwalin said, his nose scrunched up. “Takes too much sugar or honey t’ get it palatable.”

“Its tartness is why I like it,” Baylee chuckled. “It’s a refreshing sort of sour that other fruits don’t’ really have.” She served herself some more vegetables before taking another sip of her wine. “With a bit of oil, salt, pepper, and the tiniest dash of mustard, it makes a lovely dressing for salad. Or, slice it up and put it in the cavity of a chicken along with some rosemary, seasoned salt, and thyme before roasting it to get a really delicious bird.”

The table of dwarves couldn’t help but chuckle at her words; it was endearing to hear her ramble on about the different culinary uses for lemon.

“Sounds like we should have stayed a few more nights at your home,” Kili told her, his brow raised. He speared a small potato with his knife before popping it into his mouth. As he chewed it, he glanced past the other table at an elven woman—at least, he _thought_ they was an elven woman.

“If you lot had stayed a few more nights instead of just one, I don’t think da’ and I would have had any food left in our pantry,” she half-joked.

Nori snickered. “Think of it this way: When the two o’ you return home, you won’t be havin’ to toss away a lot o’ spoiled food now.”

She paused, thinking about how horrible the stench would have been if she and Bilbo had left with a full pantry. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “That would have been a horrid mess to clean up…”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise early update~! I hope you all enjoy <3

Thorin _had_ hoped to leave Rivendell come morning, but the chaos of the previous day left everyone sore and wanting nothing more than to continue resting. The day after that, the company still wished to rest and even Thorin admitted that it felt nice to get some sleep in a relatively safe environment. And so, they stayed yet another night.

On the fourth day of their stay, Baylee found herself wandering the halls of Rivendell; unlike the previous days when Bilbo had accompanied her, she was alone. She was a bit glad for this, as she hadn’t had much time by herself. Though she considered the dwarves friends by this point, they could, admittedly, get on her nerves at time.

Especially when they decided to burn one of the tables in their room just so they could roast some sausages.

‘I understand that they’re not the fondest of elves,’ she thought, running her fingers along one of the railings, ‘but that doesn’t give them the right to be rude to our hosts like that. Even when they came to Bag End, they didn’t break or burn anything—and they cleaned up after themselves!’

Shaking her head, she let out a soft sigh and paused in her steps. Turning towards the railing, she stood on her tiptoes and rested her arms on it, looking out over the area. Directly below her was a waterfall that fed down into a pool of clear water. If she either stood on her tiptoes or ducked down to look between the balusters, she could see that a set of stairs led down into the pool.

‘I wonder if they use it for swimming or for bathing? Or maybe for clothes washing?’ she wondered. On the second day of their stay, she had been shown to a private bathing room where an elegant copper tub had been half-filled with warm, citrus-scented water. While she bathed, her clothes had been taken away to be washed and mended and she had been given an elven gown to wear—one that had most definitely belonged to a child at some point. ‘From here, it doesn’t look like the water’s moving around very much, so I can’t imagine it’d be good any sort of washing…’

“Then again,” she murmured aloud, “with this one eye, it’s hard to tell if it’s moving or not…”

She stepped away from the railing and continued to walk. In the distance, she could hear the dwarves’ raucous laughter and she hoped beyond hope that they weren’t being destructive in some fashion again. Slipping her hands into her pockets, she glanced down past her like-new dress at the floor. The tiles, like everything else about the place, were made of organic shapes, though the grout between them was a deep, almost metallic, bronze in color.

‘I wonder how hard it’ll be to learn archery like this?’ she thought. ‘It shouldn’t be _too_ hard, given that, whenever I’ve seen Kili shoot, he keeps one eye shut. But I also know that you need a fair bit of strength to draw back some bows—Mister Lightfoot goes hunting sometimes and always complains about how much his arm hurts the next day from using his bow. Or maybe he’s just not using it right…?’

As she walked further and further away from the waterfall, her ears began to detect a newer, softer sound: A harp. Unlike the dwarves, she had rather enjoyed the music that had been played for them the first night of their stay and, because of this, she walked off to try and find the source of the music.

‘It’s very pretty,’ she told herself. ‘It’s such a shame the others didn’t like hearing it as much the other day. I wouldn’t have minded if the music had continued through dinner…’

It took her nearly ten minutes of following the music before she finally rounded a corner and found its source. However, it was not an elf at the harp. To her great surprise, it was _Thorin_.

‘He…he plays the harp?’ Her brows furrowed in confusion. The harp was the last instrument she had expected a dwarf to play. Drums, fiddles, flutes…those, she could see a dwarf playing. But a _harp_?

Curiously, she moved closer to him, her head tilted ever so slightly. His eyes were shut as his fingers moved over the strings expertly, telling her that this was an instrument he knew well. Just as she was about to make her presence known to him, he took her by surprise once again by beginning to sing.

_“The world was young, the mountains green,_

_No stain yet on the Moon was seen,_

_No words were laid on stream or stone_

_When Durin woke and walked alone._

_He named the nameless hills and dells;_

_He drank from yet untasted wells;_

_He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,_

_And saw a crown of stars appear,_

_As gems upon a silver thread,_

_Above the shadows of his head._

_The world was fair, the mountains tall,_

_In Elder Days before the fall_

_Of mighty kings in Nargothrond_

_And Gondolin, who now beyond_

_The Western Seas have passed away:_

_The world was fair in Durin's day._

_A king he was on carven throne_

_In many-pillared halls of stone_

_With golden roof and silver floor,_

_And runes of power upon the door._

_The light of sun and star and moon_

_In shining lamps of crystal hewn_

_Undimmed by cloud or shade of night_

_There shone for ever fair and bright._

_There hammer on the anvil smote,_

_There chisel clove, and graver wrote;_

_There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;_

_The delver mined, the mason built._

_There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,_

_And metal wrought like fishes' mail,_

_Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,_

_And shining spears were laid in hoard._

_Unwearied then were Durin's folk;_

_Beneath the mountains music woke:_

_The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,_

_And at the gates the trumpets rang._

_The world is grey, the mountains old,_

_The forge's fire is ashen-cold;_

_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:_

_The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;_

_The shadow lies upon his tomb_

_In Moria, in Khazad-dûm._

_But still the sunken stars appear_

_In dark and windless Mirrormere;_

_There lies his crown in water deep,_

_Till Durin wakes again from sleep.”_

While he sang, Baylee’s eyes drifted shut only to find herself looking upon a foreign land. Thick forests of evergreen trees lined the sides of snowcapped mountains and rivers shimmered in the midday sun. The scene changed; now she was looking down at a massive lake where a lone figured peered down into the waters. Behind him were the same mountains, though there was now a massive gate in the side of one them.

“What did I tell you about sneaking up on people, Mouse-Lass?”

She gasped, her eyes flitting open in shock. Thorin was looking right at her, his brow raised, but his face emotionless. “I-I’m sorry, I _was_ going to let you know I was here, but you started singing,” she quickly explained. Her cheeks grew darker and darker with her every word. “I-I didn’t want to interrupt…”

To her relief, he chuckled. “No harm done, I suppose,” he said, stepping away from the harp.

Her head tilted slightly again. “I didn’t know you played the harp.”

He let out another soft laugh, looking back at the instrument with some fondness. “Aye, I do…Not the most dwarvish of instruments, is it? But I find it relaxing. It forces you to think about the placement of your hands and the strength with which you pluck the strings, which makes you forget about almost everything else in the world—for a little while, at least.” Looking back at the hobbit, he then crossed his arms over his chest. “And what brings a Mouse-Lass so far away from everyone else?”

She bit her lower lip slightly and glanced away guiltily. “Well, the lads are off bathing…and, to be honest, I wanted to get away from da’ for a while,” she admitted.

It was his turn for his head to tilt somewhat. “And why is that?”

Her smile turned a bit guilty. “Well, he won’t stop talking about how lovely he finds Rivendell and how, someday, he should like to retire to a place like this.”

“You don’t agree with him?” He beckoned her to start walking alongside him.

“Oh, for the most part I do,” she replied. “Rivendell is beautiful and wonderfully peaceful, but…at the same time, everything makes me feel like I’m a child again. I can barely see overtop the railings, the statues are twice as tall as me, even the eating utensils are a bit difficult to use due to their size.”

Nodding in understanding, he clasped his hands behind his back. “While I also have the same frustration,” he said, “I can only imagine it’s even worse for you.” He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at one of the murals painted on the wall. “One of the many downsides to staying with elves, I’m afraid.”

She frowned slightly. “I know you’re not the fondest of elves, but I think you and the others should try to be a _little_ more polite to Lord Elrond and his people. It’s because of them we’re safe from those warg riders, after all. Not to mention, they also gave us room and food without hesitation _or_ reservation.” Turning her gaze back to the path ahead, she let out a soft sigh and tucked some hair behind her ear; it quickly fell back out of place, though. “They even treated our injuries and mended our clothes.”

Thorin was silent for a long moment as he contemplated her words; she was right, of course. The elves _had_ invited them into their home and given them all the comforts they could want…and, in return, he had said nothing as the others outright destroyed bits of furniture and bathed in decorative fountains. It would definitely seem that the elves of Rivendell had more kindness (and patience) in their hearts than the elves of Mirkwood…

He wouldn’t admit it, however—at least, not for the time being. Instead, he looked over at the hobbit lass to see the bandages wrapped around her head. “How is your eye?” he asked after some minutes. “I haven’t had the chance t’ speak with you about since I first saw it.”

“I’ll have bad scarring on my eyelid and cheek,” she answered, knowing he was trying to avoid the topic of elves. She thought it best to humor him, however. “Lord Elrond said I will be able to keep my eye, though there is still a strong chance I’ll go completely blind in it.”

He nodded slowly in understanding once more. “I’m sorry you’ve gotten such an injury so soon in the journey. I don’t think any of us could have anticipated running into both trolls _and_ warg riders in the same day.”

“It could have been worse, I suppose.” Unconsciously grabbing a lock of hair, she started to finger-comb it. “We could have all been eaten by the trolls or ambushed by the wargs sooner.”

A soft laugh left his mouth and his brow rose once more. “Yes, that is quite true,” he agreed. “But, we have you and your father to thank for ensuring we _didn’t_ get eaten.”

At that, she shook her head. “No. That was all da’. He was the one who was buying for time by keeping the trolls distracted. I was just stumbling about in the woods, looking for ponies and getting ready to give up.” She sighed, remembering how hopeless she had felt when she couldn’t find any of the ponies while knowing how close to death the rest of the company had been.

She hoped she would never feel that hopeless again.

“That’s not true. You were the one who guided Gandalf to us…and if you hadn’t done that, then some of us, at least, would have been killed.” He glanced over in time to see her attempt, yet again, to put the now-combed hair behind her ear and fail.

“…I guess that is true.”

They walked in silence for a while, occasionally hearing the distant sound of laughter from the rest of the company. For the most part, however, what they heard were the sounds of either rushing water or birds singing. As they came upon an overlook where they could gaze out over the majority of Rivendell, they took a break from walking.

Watching as Baylee stood on her tiptoes to peer over the railing, Thorin could barely hold back a laugh. “If you’d like, I could set you on the railing,” he jokingly offered.

Her brow rose, though she let out a small chuckle. “No, thank you. I’m quite fine down here.” And with that, she sat down, her dress and petticoats fanned out around her like a flower. The view wasn’t much different from there; the biggest difference was that she could lean forward slightly and see straight down.

Shaking his head, Thorin laughed quietly. He rested his arms on the railing and leaned forward slightly to look out over the area. He would never admit it, but he did find this place to be peaceful…and comfortable. Though the décor wasn’t to his liking, it was nice enough.

“In Erebor, things will be more suited to people of our heights,” he said after a moment.

She glanced up at him. “That would be nice,” she replied with a chuckle, “though, I daresay I’ll still be too short for some areas.” Turning her gaze back out to the buildings below, she thought she could see her father on one of the balconies.

“Perhaps, but you are about the size of a dwarrowling, so it shouldn’t be _too_ difficult for you to reach things. Though, we have a while yet before we reach the Lonely Mountain.” Stealing another look down at her, he then let out a quiet sigh. “That is, if you wish to continue the journey.”

Baylee’s brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I want to continue the journey?” she asked, looking up at him again.

“Your eye. No one would fault you for wanting to break your contract and return to your beloved Shire.”

She pursed her lips in a somewhat defiant manner. “I signed a contract, Oakenshield,” she stated, “and I have no intention of breaking said contract. I may not be able to do much—possibly even less so now—but I’m still going to do my best to help you and the others reclaim Erebor.”

A soft sigh left her mouth and she looked down at her lap, where her hands sat, folded overtop one another. “I know I’m just a small hobbit lass, but you lot have become good friends to da’ and me over the past few weeks. I _want_ to help you. Even if it means doing something as unimportant as foraging for herbs to make a meal taste better or scouting out a good place to sleep.”

“You do more than that, Mouse-Lass.” He sat down as well, one leg outstretched while the other was bent; he draped an arm over his knee while the other held his weight when he leaned back slightly. “I must admit, I originally thought you and your father wouldn’t have much use on this quest—in fact, I had expected the two of you to turn around and go home after the second week. After all, I had always heard that hobbits prefer the warmth and safety of their homes to the unknown wilds outside their beloved Shire.”

“Well, you certainly hadn’t heard wrong.”

He chuckled, nodding. “Aye, I hadn’t—but, the two of you have still managed to prove me wrong. You constantly take us all by surprise with your foraging trips and Fili frequently tells me how easily you seem to disappear into thin air. Your father managed to keep a level head when we were all tied up in sacks…You _both_ pushed past your fear when we were being chased by the warg riders…” He shook his head. “The two of you are constantly making me question how much courage hobbits keep hidden away in those small bodies of yours.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Is it courage or is it actually just the drive to stay alive?” she joked.

“Many times, the two are often one and the same. I’ve heard they can also be confused with sheer dumb luck.” He glanced over at her, an amused smile on his lips.

“Sheer dumb luck? Now _that_ would be the best way to describe it for us hobbits.” It was interesting, how different he could be when the others weren’t around. He seemed calmer and more relaxed. ‘Probably because he doesn’t have to act like a king when they’re not around,’ she thought. Smiling, she tried to tuck the lock of hair away again, but yet again, it failed.

Thorin frowned ever so slightly as he watched her struggle with her hair; part of him wanted to offer her his assistance by braiding it back for her. He knew better, however: Fili and Kili had quickly taught both her and Bilbo about how sacred hair was to dwarves and how either offering to style it or simply styling it without being related to the person was a sign of flirtation.

“I won’t lie to you and say that journey is going to be any easier from here on out,” he said, turning his gaze back out past the railing balusters. “If anything, things will become more perilous…We’re being pursued by an unknown enemy. The tamed lands are far behind us and will only grow wilder. Even in the mountain paths, where we dwarves are at home, there are more dangers than just the cold. I plan on us staying here for a few more days…in that time, I would like you think carefully about your decision to continue on with us, Mouse-Lass.”

Baylee was silent for many minutes, her eyes closed as she thought over the last few days. That night and day had been the most terrifying ones in her life and knowing that even worse lay ahead of them…Of course it scared her.

But so had stepping out of Bag End to come on this journey. So had those first orc cries they had heard just over a week ago.

‘Has it really been that short of time?’ she thought. ‘It feels like weeks ago when we heard them…’ She tried to tuck the same lock of hair behind her ear, but still, it was to no avail.

Without thinking, Thorin got to his feet.

Unaware of the king’s movements, Baylee remained within her thoughts. ‘Regardless, I know what lies ahead is going to be worse—I’ve known from the very start just how dangerous this journey would be. There is, quite possibly, a _dragon_ of all monsters sitting in our destination. And yet…here I am. Here _da’_ is.’

Her eyes suddenly flicked open and she stiffened slightly when she felt a pair of hands on her hair. Realizing it was Thorin, she felt her cheeks grow dark.

“My apologies, Mouse-Lass, but you’ve been fighting your hair for the last hour,” he told her, carefully coaxing the locks to shift around under the bandages. “I’m sure it must be annoying you quite a bit.”

“I-I can take the-the bandages off if need be,” she offered. While part of her wondered if this was an attempt at flirting, the more logical part of her mind quickly shut that down—this was _Thorin_. He would never flirt with a hobbit, let alone _her_. ‘He’s probably just annoyed by the fact that I can’t seem to take care of my own hair,’ she told herself.

“…That would be useful,” he said after a brief pause.

Biting her lower lip, she reached up and, finding the spot where the bandages had been tied, she undid the knot. She stuck her fingers under the cloth strips, loosening them up enough that she could pull them all off at once. As her injured eye was exposed to the daylight, she winced slightly. “There…I hope that helps.”

“It does, thank you.” He started to comb his fingers through her hair, a look of concentration on his face. Though he had seen her and her father braid her hair often enough, he was a bit surprised by length of it—it reached nearly to the middle of her back. At first, he thought about doing a simple three-strand braid. Before he realized it, however, he was separating her hair into four strands at the crown of her head.

The two were quiet for a few moments, the only sounds around them being the singing of birds and the distant sounds of the waterfalls. Baylee remained still as Thorin braided her hair; she had tried to guess what style of braid he was doing, but had quickly given up when she realized he was using more than three strands. Soon enough, she closed her eyes and started to ponder his words over once more.

“Oakenshield?” she said after a moment.

“Hm?” He was somewhat startled by her voice, having been quite absorbed in his braiding.

“What were Dale and Erebor like? Before Smaug, I mean.” She tried to subtly glance over her shoulder at him, but it was in vain. “You and Balin have spoken about the vast treasuries the two cities had, but that’s about it…”

A soft chuckle left his mouth and his brow rose. “Aye…that’s because most people only ever care about the treasure that they hope lies at the end of their adventures,” he told her. “It’s our way of making sure the others stay at least _somewhat_ focused on our task. Am I making your hair too tight, by the way?”

“Not at all. And I can see why you would do that.” As her left eyelid started to itch, she scrunched her nose up slightly and resisted the urge to scratch it. “But it’d be nice to know what other reasons you wish to reclaim it for.”

“For one, the sheer beauty,” he began. “From the outside, Erebor appears as any other mountain: Massive, grey, and capped with snow. But inside, everything has been carved from green marble; the roads, the pillars, the homes…everything.” While he spoke, she could hear the wistfulness in his voice as he recalled the happy days of his youth. “And the marble wasn’t just plain green. It had veins of gold and white quartz running through it that once shimmered and shone under the light of massive hanging lanterns. Not to mention, it also had gold foil that had been applied in places to accent the beauty of the city.”

“I didn’t know marble could be green.” She had seen white and black marble in the bakery; the stone was good for when the bakers needed to keep dough cold.

“That’s because Erebor is the only place in Middle Earth where you can find it.” Finally reaching the nape of her neck with the braid, his plaiting got much faster. “And because it was carved from the mountain itself, whenever music was played for a celebration, you could hear it in even the furthest reaches. From the deepest mines to the topmost lookout point, you could hear the fiddles, the harps, the flutes…”

He let out a melancholic sigh, his eyes closing for a moment; there was a time when he had been able to recall images of his home in perfect detail. But it had been so long since he last walked those halls, the images were beginning to become mere blurs. The only thing that remained as clear as ever was a single jewel that had been embedded above his grandfather’s throne: The Arkenstone.

“It sounds like it was a beautiful place to live,” Baylee commented after he was silent for a moment. “Once you’re on the throne, I’m sure it’ll return to such.”

Her words brought a small smile to his lips. “You hold a far more optimistic view of this journey than most, Mouse-Lass.” Tying off her hair, he took a small step back to admire his handiwork.

“I try to be positive about _most_ things,” she told him. Feeling that he had finished braiding, she brought it over her shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a braid like this before.”

“Really? It’s just a four-strand braid. Do hobbits only use three-strand braids?” He chuckled; being that they found hair to be sacred, dwarves had invented many styles of plaits that weren’t known outside their kingdoms.

“As far as I know; though, there could be those outside of Hobbiton that know different sorts of braids.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, a small smile on her lips.

“Perhaps by the time you return to the Shire, you’ll be able to teach others some new braids,” he told her. He then paused, having caught sight of her injury. Her pupil and the majority of her iris were no longer visible, replaced by a large, milky-white spot. The very edges of her iris, however, were still visible, giving the spot a sort of pale green halo. Parts of her upper eyelid and her cheek were covered by thin scabs and dark bruising, though it seemed they were healing nicely.

Knowing he was staring at her eye, she let out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s hideous, isn’t it?” She sighed and glanced down at the bandages in her lap. “Before I saw it in the mirror, I was wondering why everyone had been giving me such vague answers whenever I asked how bad it looked. Now I know why…”

He shook his head, moving to side beside her once more, though he unconsciously sat closer to her this time. “I’ve seen far uglier wounds in my lifetime, Mouse-Lass,” he said. “Most of them on myself. With this elvish medicine you’re using, I’m sure the resulting scars won’t be nearly as bad as you think.”

She chuckled softly, glancing over at him. “Now _you’re_ being the optimistic one.”

“I try to be positive about _some_ things,” he told her with a small shrug and smile. “But I’m also being serious. I may not be fond of elves, but even I have to admit their medicine is better than that of any other race. Given how quickly Lord Elrond was able to get the white of your eye cleared up, I’m sure the scarring won’t be too bad.”

“I can only hope,” she sighed. “Hobbits…well, being that we’re not warriors, scars aren’t necessarily considered attractive among the general population. In fact, they’re often thought to be quite the opposite— _especially_ on hobbit lasses.” Running her fingers along the braid, a halfhearted smile came to her lips as she thought about Halfast. What kind of reaction would he have to seeing her scar? And what if she ended up getting even _more_ of them? Would he reject her at first sight? Or would he try his best to look past them? “We’re supposed to be prim, proper, and dainty, so having a scar like this would tell other hobbits that I’m _not_ those things.”

His brow rose at her words. “Well, then, clearly they judge too fast, because if I recall, you’re constantly reminding your father to be proper by not slurping his soup and to make sure he has a handkerchief in his lap in place of a napkin. Just this morning, you smacked his hand away from the bowl of sliced fruit and told him to use a spoon to serve himself.” He smiled as he heard her let out a small laugh and, looking at her, he saw that her cheeks were rosy. For some reason, the sight made his chest feel oddly warm. “As for being dainty…well, I do call you ‘Mouse-Lass’ for a reason.”

“Here I thought it was because I kept sneaking up on you,” she chuckled. She glanced over at him and found him smiling at her.

“Well…that, too.”

“And just what are the two of you giggling about?”

Baylee let out a quiet squeak in surprise and turned her head the other direction only to find her father walking towards them. “Hello, da’,” she said, smiling at him. His presence made her wonder if it had actually been him she saw down on the balcony or if, perhaps, she and Thorin had been up here longer than she thought. “Out exploring some more?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been on the hunt for the two of you. So are Fili and Kili, actually.”

Thorin’s brow rose in slight confusion. “Why is that, Master Burglar?”

Bilbo cocked his brow in return. “Because it’s nearly supper and no one has seen either of you since breakfast—Baylee, dear, why is your bandage off?” It was then he took notice of her braided hair, though he said nothing; for now, he assumed that she had done it herself. Though, it didn’t _quite_ look like a hobbit braid…

“I was letting the wounds breathe a bit,” she half-lied. She had, in truth, meant to put them back on earlier, but had gotten distracted by conversation. “Is it really near supper already?” When her father nodded, she let out a small sigh. “Feels like I ate lunch only an hour ago.”

“It doesn’t help that it’s nearing the summer months,” Thorin told her. “With the days growing longer, it gets harder and harder to keep track of time.” He watched as Bilbo walked over to them.

“Hand me those and I’ll put them back on for you,” he said to Baylee. “You don’t want them staying uncovered _too_ long since they’re still healing, after all.” As he was handed the strips of cloth, he started to carefully wrap them around her head; naturally, he took the greatest care around her eye.

“Thank you, da’,” she smiled, holding still for him.

“It’s no trouble, dear.” As he wound them about her head, he noticed that her braid, indeed, wasn’t a hobbit braid. In fact, he was certain he had seen Nori use this same pattern when he was re-braiding his beard. “What’ve you been doing all day?”

“I’ve just been exploring,” she told him. “I ran into Oakenshield a while ago and we’ve been talking ever since.”

“You didn’t ‘run into me’—you snuck up on me, as usual,” he corrected with a small laugh. He then looked at Bilbo. “Other than that detail, though, the Mouse-Lass speaks the truth.”

Bilbo nodded slowly. “And how did she sneak up on you?” he asked with a chuckle. He always found it amusing when she startled one of the dwarves; she never _tried_ to sneak up on them, yet it happened quite frequently.

“I had found a harp and was lost in my thoughts while playing it,” Thorin answered.

His brow rose. “A…harp?” He carefully tied off the bandages. “How does that feel, dear?”

“Fine, da’. Thank you.” She smiled up at him; though it was a happy one, he couldn’t help but feel a bit heartbroken thanks to her injury.

“Yes, a harp,” Thorin then said with a small nod. “It’s a relaxing instrument to play, though it certainly isn’t the first instrument one would think of when they think of dwarven music.”

Bilbo chuckled, nodding in agreed. “I’d have to agree with that. Especially since you lot were criticizing the elven harpists the other day.”

“They were playing a boring tune,” he said with a small shrug. Standing up, he stretched slightly and felt one of his vertebrae pop back into place. He was about to offer Baylee a hand up, but Bilbo beat him to it.

“I thought it was actually a rather nice song,” Bilbo chuckled as he helped his daughter to her feet. “But then again, my taste in music is quite different from yours…I also hold a bit more appreciation for elven culture than you as well.”

Thorin nodded in agreement. “Elvish culture…is not to my taste,” he admitted. “I will say this, however: Rivendell has managed to change my mind about _some_ of their people.” He glanced down at Baylee, seeing a knowing smile on her lips as she smoothed the skirt of her dress into place. “Aye, Mouse-Lass, this means I _will_ be telling the others to improve their behavior towards the elven folk.”

“Good,” she chirped as the three of them began to walk. Seeing her father’s confused expression, she explained, “I scolded him earlier about his and the others’ behavior towards the elves. I’m glad to hear he’s taken it to heart.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and let out a quiet groan. “Baylee…what have I told you about getting mouthy with authority figures?”

“I assure you, Master Burglar, she wasn’t ‘mouthy’,” Thorin laughed. “Aye, she scolded me, but it was the first—and probably only—time I’ve ever been put in my place so courteously.”

“Well…at least she was polite about it…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been leaving such lovely comments on this fic! I read (and get a kick out of a good portion) all of them, even if I don't always respond. You guys are a nice little beacon of joy in the hellscape that is 2020 <3

“Raise your elbow a little more—yes, just like that. You’ll want t’ keep it level with your cheek or even a wee bit higher. Make sure the arm holdin’ the bow stays as rigid as possible when you draw back the arrow.” Taking a step back, Kili inspected her posture and gave an affirmative nod. “Alright. Now, I’m going t’ let you try actually shooting this time. It won’t be a sharp arrow, but a hunting blunt.”

Baylee cocked her head slightly as she looked at the dwarf. “A hunting blunt…?”

He nodded. “Aye. Like the name implies, they’re not pointed. They’re blunted because they’re used more for target practice an’ smaller game that would get destroyed by the larger broadhead arrowheads used for big game.” From his quiver, he pulled out an arrow that, like he had said, had a blunt tip. Handing it to Baylee, he watched as she nocked it.

“And I aim by looking at the target, _not_ at the tip of the arrow, correct?” she asked, wanting to double check that she had remembered his earlier instructions correctly.

“Aye. Don’t worry if you don’t hit it on your first few tries; instinctive shooting can be difficult. And don’t forget about your anchor point, either—that’s one o’ the key parts o’ this shooting style.”

She nodded in understanding. Raising the bow back up, she did her best to keep her posture correct, but she didn’t draw the arrow back just yet. She stared at the archery range’s closest target and pulled the arrow back until she felt her hand brush the corner of her mouth. Only then did she loose the arrow.

And it soared right over the target.

“That’s not too bad,” Kili chuckled. “You were somewhat close, at least!”

Her brow rose and she turned her head to look at him. “That went at _least_ two feet above the target,” she told him.

“Still closer than I was expecting,” he grinned cheekily. He held out another hunting blunt to her. “How did it feel, drawing the arrow back? Did it feel too hard to pull back…?”

“It felt a little bit hard, but I think it’s something I could grow accustomed to after some time,” she answered.

Nodding, he smiled. “Good, good—since it’s a dwarven bow, I thought it might be just a _touch_ too difficult for you, but I’m glad it’s not. Then again, you’ve gained a bit of muscle already from our sword practices.” His smile broadening, he patted her on the back. “Now, show me how you’re holdin’ the arrow.”

“Like this,” she said, nocking the arrow. She held it between her index and middle finger, all the rest tucked back against her palm.

“Try adding your middle finger into the draw,” he told her. “It’ll help keep the arrow a bit more stable on the string as you draw it. And when you aim, after your eyes have focused on the target, stick out the index finger o’ the hand holding the bow. You can use that as a bit of a guide—once it comes into line with your focus, then you tuck it back, draw, an’ release.”

“Al-alright,” she murmured, her brows furrowed slightly as Kili stepped back. To her, it almost felt like there were more steps to learning archery than there was learning how to use a sword. “Three fingers on the string, pointer finger to aim…” She nodded affirmatively to herself and, using the grip he had suggested, she looked at the center of the target. Raising the bow and holding out her finger, she continued to lift the bow until her finger was just in line with the target. She tucked her finger in, drew the arrow back to the corner of her mouth, and let go.

Kili’s advice worked. While she hadn’t hit the exact center of the target, she had gotten the outermost ring.

The prince let out a small, victorious cheer. “Second shot an’ you’ve already hit the target!” he laughed. “That’s better than when Fili was first learnin’!”

She felt her cheeks turn pink, but she smiled. “How many shots did it take him to hit the target?”

“Truth be told, I lost count after ten,” he joked. “There’s a reason he prefers melee weapons as opposed t’ ranged weapons.”

“Are you insulting my archery skills again, you twit?”

Both turned around, finding Fili walking towards them. Resting against the back of his neck with his wrists draped over them were his twin swords.

“Only a little bit,” Kili grinned cheekily. “Baylee hit the target on her second try.”

“Did she now?” He, too, grinned, watching as her cheeks grew red. “I have t’ admit, that is a _lot_ better than what I did when I was trying to learn.”

She shrugged shyly, a small smile on her lips. “I think it’s more or less beginner’s luck,” she told them. “That, and the fact that Kili spent nearly half an hour making me perfect my posture and practice drawing an arrow.”

Fili looked at his brother, a look of feigned shock on his face. “ _Only_ half an hour? Uncle had _us_ practicing for an _hour_ at the very least!”

“Aye, well, I’m a _wee_ bit less strict than him when it comes to training,” Kili told him matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.” He gave Baylee a playful wink before looking back at his brother only raise his brow as he saw Fili’s swords. “You’re still going to work on swords with her then?”

“O’ course I am. Even if she takes to archery, she’ll still need to know how to defend herself close up.” He smiled down at Baylee. “I hope you still remember the parry positions. I know it’s been a little while.”

“Only a week,” she chuckled. “But yes, I do still remember them.” As Kili handed her another hunting blunt, she knocked it.

“Are you sure she should be using one of _your_ swords, though? She was using mine and it’s a few pounds lighter than either of yours.”

“I’m alright with that,” Baylee told them. “Yes, it’ll probably tire me out a bit faster, but it’ll also be good for building muscle, right?”

Kili nodded in acquiesce. “I suppose that _is_ true…and you do need to gain a bit of muscle. Your upper arm is about as thick as my wrist.”

She pouted up at him. “It is _not_ —It’s thicker by a good two inches!”

The brothers snorted. “Alright, alright…it is a _wee_ bit thicker—but not much,” Kili grinned. “Now go on an’ show Fi how you can hit the target.”

The pout still on her lips, she turned back around to face the target. Getting herself into position, she focused her vision on the target. Doing the same as before, she raised the bow and used her pointer finger to align the shot. She drew back the arrow and loosed it, watching as it soared through the air and hit a few inches to the left of the arrow already in the target.

“See?” Kili grinned. “And it was fairly close to her second shot!” He offered Baylee another arrow; once she took it, he crossed his arms over his chest. “She might be a natural with the bow.”

“I doubt that,” she said, readying this fourth arrow. She then fired it, watching as it went a bit to the right of the other two.

“You never know,” Fili told her. “Even those who are naturals need to start somewhere. Ki and I weren’t born being able to swing our swords or fire our bows with such skill.”

“You _still_ can’t fire a bow with any skill,” Kili snickered.

Ignoring his comment, Fili continued. “Everything takes practice, whether it’s learnin’ a weapon, learnin’ how to cook—”

“Which he _also_ can’t do.”

“—Or even something seemingly as simple as sewing.” He reached over, thwacking Kili upside the head. “The only exception I know o’ would be Kili, who has been the foremost expert on how t’ be a prat since the day he was born.”

Baylee burst into a fit of giggles as Kili pouted at his older brother. She took yet another arrow as it was handed to her.

“Aim for the next farthest target,” he instructed, still wearing the pout. “We’ll make this your last arrow for today before I hand you off t’ Middle Earth’s foremost expert on being an arse.”

Hearing Fili snicker behind her, Baylee did as instructed. Just as before, she focused on the target as she nocked the arrow. Her nose scrunched up ever so slightly; she knew the target was farther away than the first, but _how_ far away it was was an entirely different matter. While part of her thought it seemed to be about fifty feet away, another part of her questioned if, maybe, it was further than that?

Shaking her head slightly, she refocused on the target before lifting the bow and taking aim. As she loosed the arrow, she watched as it grazed past the top edge of the target.

“Not bad,” Fili grinned. “To be honest, I didn’t expect you t’ hit it.”

“I didn’t expect to hit it, either,” she said with a small chuckle. “Seems like it’s a bit closer than I thought it was, too.”

“What makes you say that?” Kili questioned, his brow rising.

Her cheeks turned a touch pink. “Well…I wasn’t sure how far away it was, since I can’t tell too well anymore. So, I aimed more for the top of the target than the middle.”

They nodded in understanding. “A good precaution, honestly,” Fili told her. “What you could have done instead was draw the arrow back a wee bit further than you normally would. That’d put more ‘oomph’ behind it, sending it further.”

“As bad as he is at archery, he’s tellin’ the truth,” Kili said. “Just don’t pull back _too_ far—you end up using too much strength doing that an’ you lose the arrow’s stability.” He patted her atop the head and took the bow from her. “But, we’ll see how you do with that tomorrow. For now, it’s time for you t’ go play with swords.”

“The playing doesn’t come yet,” Fili jokingly scolded. “She has to learn to use ‘em right first.” He motioned for Baylee to follow after him while Kili wandered off to fetch his hunting blunts. “We’ll start off with a little refresher round t’ see how well you remember the positions,” he told her as they walked. “Once you’re warmed up, we’ll try it without me calling out the numbers.”

She nodded. “Got it…Though, I’ve been wondering something lately.”

“Hm?” His brow rose as he looked down at her.

“Well, I was thinking about how Nori’s teaching da’ to use two knives as well as a sword. Shouldn’t I be learning how to use knives instead of a sword? They seem like they’d be better suited for someone of my—well, my stature.”

He quietly laughed. “Admittedly, I thought about that, too. And you’re partly right: Knives _would_ be good for you—but only if you were bein’ sneaky. The problem with knives is when it comes time to block, since you need a lot of strength even when deflecting a blow. With knives, you can block with just one or both knives. Blockin’ or parrying with one gives you the opportunity t’ attack with the other, but it also means the full force of your opponent’s swing is going to come down on that _one_ blade—and it’s usually a short blade, so you have less leverage t’ knock them away. Blocking or parrying with both leaves you more open for attack from your opponent. Neither of which is very good for a little hobbit lass like yourself.”

“While using a sword gives me more leverage for deflecting blows and can let me use both hands to steady the blade when I need to block against a stronger opponent?”

“Aye, very good, Baylee. It also puts more distance between the two of you.” As they came up on a wide, circular stone terrace, he brought them to a halt. “Anyway, it’s better t’ learn how to use a sword first—it means you get to learn the basics of swordplay, which you need in order to learn how to use other various styles. Like duel wielding swords or daggers.”

She nodded in understanding. “What about axes?”

He chuckled, his brow rising slightly. “Axes…now those don’t take much finesse t’ use. But they’re definitely a weapon you need strength for. There are a few tricks you can use with them, but it depends on how long the axe’s beard is.” Drawing one of his swords, he flipped it around, offering her the handle.

Taking it, she gave him a curious look. “Axes have beards?”

“Aye, they do, but not the kind we dwarves have.” Reaching down, he pulled a small throwing axe from his boot and held it up for her to see. “See how the blade curves down?” She nodded. “That bit’s the beard. If the beard o’ an axe is long enough, you can use it to hook an enemy’s shield. From there, you can yank them off balance or even pull the shield away.”

“If ever I’m chopping wood and get attacked, I’ll remember that,” she joked, earning a snort from him as he returned the axe to his boot.

“Something tells me you don’t chop much wood to begin with,” he chuckled. Standing upright, he drew the other sword from the sheath before tossing it aside.

“Not really, no. But I am quite good at making kindling.” She grinned at him. “But yes, I’m fairly useless when it comes to actually splitting wood. Lifting heavy platters of food and drink, on the other hand…”

A teasing grin came to Fili’s lips. “Well, perhaps by the time you return t’ the Shire, you’ll have enough muscle and skill with weapons that you’ll be chopping wood faster than any other hobbit.”

She laughed, her brow rising. “Now _that_ I highly doubt!”

Unbeknownst to the pair, they were being watched. Bilbo stood on a balcony of a nearby building, watching as his daughter slowly went through the movements of sword fighting as Fili called out positions. Behind him, he could hear the others as they ate some lunch; to both his and Baylee’s relief, their attitudes towards the elves had become much more courteous. Of course, some of it was forced, but at least they were putting in an effort.

‘It’ll be a shame when it we have to leave in a few days,’ he thought, chewing on the stem of his pipe. He had run out of tobacco already and, not wanting to admit it to his daughter, hadn’t asked if he could use some of hers. ‘It’s so peaceful here…And the elves are so friendly. I can ask them to explain something to me and they’ll be more than happy to give me an in-depth explanation. And their maps! Oh, their maps are so gorgeously drawn!’

His attention was drawn back down to the sparring lesson as he heard the clanging of metal. Brows furrowing, he watched as Fili swung his sword at Baylee from various angles. The prince had started off nice and slow, but his pace was quickly picking up and he was no longer calling out the positions. Bilbo felt his heart starting to race with worry as he watched Baylee block and parry the blows; with the blades uncovered, he knew there was a chance she could get hurt…

A hand suddenly appeared in front of him and waved itself before his eyes. He let out a startled squeak and hopped backwards, nearly dropping his pipe in fright.

“I thought you’d be lost in your thoughts, but I didn’t expect you t’ be _that_ lost in them,” Bofur chuckled, his brow rising in amusement. “What’re you so thoughtful about?” As he spoke, he tamped a bit of tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe and, seeing that Bilbo had none in his pipe, offered him the tobacco pouch.

“Th-thank you,” he sighed, taking the pouch. Pinching some of the leaves, he put them in his pipe bowl before carefully tamping them down. “You could have tapped me on the shoulder instead of waving your hand in front of me like that, though.”

Bofur glanced over at him, holding his pipe with his teeth as he used a match to light it. “I think I would have gotten the same reaction out o’ ya regardless o’ how I got your attention,” he replied. “What’re you so thoughtful about?” he asked again. Once his pipe was lit, he slid the matches over to Bilbo.

A sigh left the hobbit’s mouth. “A number of things, admittedly. But the two at the forefront of my mind are this place and Baylee.”

“Why don’t you start with Rivendell, then?”

“Well, it’s just so…calm and peaceful here.” He took a moment to light his pipe, shaking the match out once the leaves were lit. “I daresay I like it more than the Shire. No nosy Sackville-Bagginses, no need to worry about how my garden’s doing—no need to worry at all, actually.” As he took in a bit of smoke, he looked over at Bofur; he was more than a little surprised to find that his tobacco had hints of cherry to it. “I hate to admit it, but I just feel so at ease and relaxed here that I’m almost loathe to continue on the journey.”

Bofur quietly chuckled, smoke coming out of his mouth in small puffs. “You don’t hate to admit it,” he said, his voice having a bit of mirth to it. “It’s us dwarves who hate t’ admit it—It _is_ nice here, even if it’s o’ elven make, so I can’t say that I blame you much for not wantin’ to leave.”

“But I know we have to,” Bilbo then said, stubbornness in his voice. “We have a mountain that needs reclaiming, after all. Which is why, when we leave in two more days, I’ll not be complaining.”

“At least, you won’t complain until the end o’ the second day after we’ve left,” he joked. Looking at Bilbo, he found a pout on his lips. “Oh, don’t give me that pout, lad. We’re all goin’ to miss it t’ some degree.” Taking in another mouthful of smoke, he closed his eyes and savored the flavor for a few seconds. “Like you said, this place is peaceful…an’, once you get used to it, the food isn’t so bad, either. Music could do with some work, but eh. Elves like their lullabies an’ we dwarves like our dancin’ songs.” He then opened an eye and glanced at Bilbo from the corner of it. “Now. What about your wee lassie? You’re still worried about her eye?”

“How can I not be?” he sighed. “But, in this case? It’s not her eye that’s troubling me.” He nodded down at the sparring pair. “It’s-It’s… _that_.”

“That?” Bofur repeated, brow cocked. “And what is ‘that’ that I’m supposed t’ be looking at? Fili?”

He shook his head. “No, not Fili. It-it’s-it’s _her_ down there, learning how to fight with a sword. It’s her learning to fight _at all_!” A heavy sigh left his mouth and he slumped forward against the railing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you dwarves encourage both sexes to learn how to fight, but we’re hobbits—we don’t encourage _anyone_ to fight! And-and as her father, I almost feel like I’ve-I’ve-I’ve _failed_ her in a way. She could play with wooden swords and toy bows all she wanted when she was a child, but-but what she’s holding right now is _not_ a toy! It could very much kill her if Fili swings too hard or-or-or if she misjudges something!”

Reaching over, he set his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “There you go, overreactin’ again,” he sighed. “She’s goin’ to be fine, Bilbo. Fili’s a good teacher an’ he understands her limitations. He’s not goin’ to let her get hurt.”

“While part me of knows you’re right, the rest of me is wanting to race down there and yank that sword out of her hands before making her go rest.”

“Well, you need t’ tell that part o’ yourself that Baylee is an adult who can make her own decisions an’ who knows her own boundaries.” Giving his shoulder a small squeeze, he then let go in favor of leaning forward on the railing.

“I know I don’t know much ‘bout fatherhood, but I am an uncle t’ a whole brood o’ little ones,” he continued. “You want t’ keep them close at hand an’ all swaddled up, nice and safe from the world. But you can’t keep them like that forever. Either they’ll wriggle free on their own and be resentful towards you or you’re going t’ have t’ help them an’ gently guide them.”

Bilbo sighed heavily, smoke furling out of his mouth and nose. “She’s so small, it’s hard to think of her as an adult at times…In my mind, she’s thirty-three and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. But in my heart, she’s still my tiny little girl.”

“You’re her da’; she’ll always be your tiny little girl. Even when she’s old and grey.” He lightly shook his head and let out a quiet laugh. “And it’s alright t’ worry over her…you just can’t let that worry dictate both your lives.” He watched as Fili had Baylee start coming at him. It was actually rather adorable—like watching a dwarrowling first learning how to swordfight.

Bilbo watched them as well, his heart jumping every time Fili stepped forward with a counter attack. “I know,” he murmured. Taking Bofur by surprise, he let out a small chuckle. “My mother used to say the same thing when Baylee was still just a toddler. ‘She’ll always be your little girl, Bilbo, but she’ll never learn if you’re always hovering over her’.”

“Your mum sounds like a smart woman.”

“Oh, she was. She was also a good deal more courageous and daring than I ever will be,” he told him. “She was where my Took blood comes from. Before she married my father, she was well known for disappearing off into the wilds for weeks at a time, seeking out adventures.”

Bofur’s brow rose. “I think you’ve plenty o’ courage an’ daring inside o’ you,” he countered. “Takes plenty o’ pluck to come on a journey like this, especially when you’ve no connection to it.” He took a long, slow pull from his pipe, watching as the leaves down in the bowl glowed cherry-red. “You need to have more faith in yourself.” Turning around, he leaned back against the railing, his elbows resting atop it. The others, he saw, were almost done eating.

“It’s almost sickening, how optimistic you are about things.”

He shrugged. “Why go through life thinkin’ that the worst will always happen? That’s no way t’ live. Even when heartbreak an’ despair do creep in, it’s always best t’ look for the good in things. It’s the only way to make yourself keep goin’ sometimes.”

His brows furrowing, Bilbo looked at him. “…The way you’re talking makes it sound like you have personal experience with that.”

“Aye, lad, I do,” he said, his voice a little quieter. “Life for me an’ Bombur didn’t start out too kindly. We lost our parents before either o’ us were adults an’ I found myself havin’ to work in the mines t’ support us…at least, until Bifur came along.”

He smiled at the memory of his cousin coming and collecting them from the dingy little hovel he and Bombur had called ‘home’. “When he took us in, things started to get better. He taught me how t’ make toys and, between the two of us making toys an’ him hunting, we were able t’ live a fairly stable life. Bombur got himself a job as an architect an’ eventually got himself a wife. An’ it’s actually through her that we learned about the quest. Gerdi—his wife—is best friends with Lady Dis, Thorin’s sister.”

At that, Bilbo’s brows rose in surprise. “I knew Fili and Kili were Thorin’s nephews, but I had expected them to come from a brother, not a sister.”

Bofur chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “No, no…They’re the offspring o’ Dis. Though, Thorin _did_ have a brother: Frerin. But he died on the battlefield at Azanulzibar.”

“Azanulzibar?”

He nodded. “Aye. That was the battle Balin spoke o’ a week or two ago.”

Bilbo somewhat frowned. “Was that really just a week or two ago?”

“It’s easy t’ lose track o’ time when on the road.” Smiling, he then nodded towards the dining table. “You best go steal some bites t’ eat before it’s all gone, by the way. I know for a fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast an’ being that it’s well past noon…Can’t have our burglar goin’ hungry now, can we? Especially since he quite enjoys his veggies.”

A small, but teasing, pout came to his lips. “You lot could do with a few more vegetables in your life,” he joked. Looking down into the bowl of his pipe, he found it to be nothing but ashes anyway. He turned it over and lightly tapped it against the stone baluster. “You won’t have to strain so much, if you catch my drift.”

Bofur burst out into laughter—it was the first time he had heard Bilbo make a crude joke. “An’ here I was thinking you were too prim an’ proper for jokes like that,” he grinned.

“I’ll have you know that I know quite a bit of crude humor,” he smiled. “Usually, it only comes out when I’ve had a few drinks, though.”

An almost wicked grin came to the dwarf’s lips. “Oh, really? Well, I know who we’re gettin’ drunk tonight.”

Bilbo’s cheeks flushed pink. “D-don’t you dare,” he half laughed, not quite sure if Bofur was joking.

“An’ why not? You’ve seen us drunk off our arses the other night. Now it’s our turn t’ see you drunk off your arse!”

Cringing at the memory of how the dwarves had easily put away two barrels of wine a night or two ago, Bilbo shook his head. “I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of my daughter, thank you very much.”

He snorted. “Then we’ll wait until she’s gone to bed.”

“That wouldn’t work. I’d just wake her up with my drunken singing.” He then paused as he realized what he had said.

“Aha! So, you’re the type who gets more fun t’ be around when he’s drunk!” He gave Bilbo a small nudge. “So, we’ll put the lass t’ bed on the opposite side o’ Rivendell, _then_ we’ll get you drunk! How does that sound?”

Still unable to tell if Bofur was joking or not, Bilbo merely let out a small, noncommittal grunt as he followed him towards the table.

* * *

_The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,  
and the cat began to wail;  
A dish and a spoon on the table danced,  
The cow in the garden madly pranced,  
and the little dog chased his tail.  
  
The Man in the Moon took another mug,  
and then rolled beneath his chair;  
And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,  
Till in the sky the stars were pale,  
and dawn was in the air.  
  
Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:  
'The white horses of the Moon,  
They neigh and champ their silver bits;  
But their master's been and drowned his wits,  
and the Sun'll be rising soon!'_

Baylee quietly groaned in frustration as her father’s voice echoed throughout the area. She pulled her pillow overtop her head, hoping to drown out the sounds, but being that they were out on the balcony only a few yards from her, it was of little use. Normally, she rather enjoyed Bilbo’s singing—but when it was nearing midnight and he was quite obviously drunk, she didn’t have much appreciation for it. What didn’t help was how most of the dwarves were just as drunk as him and were attempting to sing along. Dwalin, however, was not singing.

No.

Dwalin was _shouting_ the lyrics.

As another verse of the song started up, she grumbled to herself and crawled out of the makeshift bed. Keeping the pillow and blanket in the center of the cushion, she rolled it in half and picked it up before carting it across the room. She had to set the bundle down momentarily in order to open the door, but there was little trouble in picking it back up.

‘Don’t they realize people are trying to sleep?’ she thought to herself as she walked down the hall. ‘I pity the elves…Their hearing is so much better than ours, it must sound like a drunken rabble is screaming in their ears.’ She decided that she was going to walk as far away as it took to no longer hear the singing, even if it meant walking all the way across Rivendell.

Thankfully, it didn’t mean going that far. It had only taken her a couple of hallways to get the majority of the music to fade into nothing more than a murmur. A sigh of relief leaving her mouth, she dropped the bundle onto the floor, making sure to press it right up against the wall so she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.

Before she sat down, however, she looked a bit further down the hallway only to see the gentle, warm glow of a lantern spilling into the hall. Her brow rising, she crept her way towards the archway before pressing herself against the wall. Then, careful as could be, she peeked around the corner.

There, on a covered veranda, were Thorin and Fili. They were each on their own pallet, with the lantern between them. Fili, she could see, was quite obviously asleep, his limbs spread out and taking up the entire cushion. Thorin, on the other hand, was awake, his hands tucked behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Judging by his heavy lids, though, he was well on his way to falling asleep.

Not wanting to bother either of them, she turned to head back to her own pallet. Before she could take a step, however, she heard Thorin softly call out, “You should be sleeping, Mouse-Lass; _not_ sneaking around.”

Her cheeks growing hot, she turned back around and poked her head into the room. “It’s hard to sleep when there are eleven drunken dwarves and a drunk hobbit bellowing out folk songs,” she replied, her voice also quiet.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Thorin looked at her with a raised brow. “I take it, then, that you’re _also_ seeking peace an’ quiet from the rabble?” he asked with a quiet chuckle.

She nodded. “I am…and it seems I sought quiet in the same direction as you and Fili.”

“Go fetch your bedding and bring in here,” he told her. “You won’t get stepped on in here.”

Doing as ordered, she went back down the hall and, rather than picking the whole thing up again, simply grabbed the corner of the cushion and started to drag it. Thorin was barely able to stifle a laugh as she came into the room; she very much reminded him of when Fili and Kili were naught but dwarrowlings who dragged their favorite blanket or stuffed toy behind them as they sought refuge from nightmares. She was even close to the same size they had been at the time, making it all the more amusing to him.

“I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did in that room,” he told her as she got herself settled. “Fili and I left long before the singing started.”

“I did manage to get in a small nap,” she said, making sure to keep her voice soft. “But then Dwalin started _yelling_ along with a song rather than _singing_ it…”

Thorin couldn’t help but snort. “Ah, yes…Dwalin’s a good fiddler, but a _horrible_ singer. He must be quite drunk if he’s attemptin’ to sing, though…normally, he outright refuses.”

“Ah, so we can expect him, along with the others, to be mighty cranky come tomorrow afternoon,” she chuckled, her brow raised. Pulling her blanket over herself, she curled up in the center of the cushion.

“I’m afraid so.” He looked back up at the ceiling, his hands returning to the back of his head. “I recommend staying rather far from them until around dinner. By then, they should have had enough food and non-alcoholic drink to make their heads hurt less.”

She nodded in understanding, glancing over at him. “I’ll do my best to remember that,” she said. “…Why were you still up, by the way?”

“Hm?” He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

“Fili’s obviously been asleep for quite some time, but you were still awake when I found you.”

“Ah…Like you, I did manage to get a small nap in, but my bladder woke me up about twenty minutes before you arrived.” He chuckled quietly. “But it’s been a challenge, falling _back_ asleep. I suppose my mind is just too busy thinking about how we’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“That’s understandable.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “As leader of the company, you’ve a lot of responsibilities and worries on your shoulders.”

He nodded slowly as he let out a soft sigh. “My biggest worry is how we’ll no longer have ponies, making our trek slower and, possibly, more arduous. Especially when we get to the mountains…having ponies would have been nice.”

“I wouldn’t think ponies would be good in that sort of environment.”

“They’re sure-footed and hardy creatures. I daresay they would have walked the mountain paths with more grace and familiarity than we dwarves.” A soft laugh left his mouth and he turned his head to look at her. He wasn’t quite sure why, but talking with her felt almost… _calming_. Soothing, even. Perhaps it was because she didn’t treat him much like the others did—that is, with a mixture of reverence and fear most subjects viewed their kings with—and instead treated him like he was a normal person? Of course, there were times he had noticed that she had been nervous or awkward around him, but those times were lessening.

Talking with her could also be quite humbling at times—namely when the small lass was telling him off. Though she was polite about it, she was still stern.

“And I suppose Lord Elrond isn’t willing to part with any of his horses,” she chuckled. Stealing a peek at him, she found him watching her; she was thankful her face was now mostly hidden by her bandage and her blanket. “Which is fine. I don’t think either da’ or me could lift our legs high enough to get out feet into those stirrups.”

He barely restrained a snort at the mental image of the two hobbits trying to climb onto a horse. “No offense, Mouse-Lass, but the stirrups would, more than likely, sit above your head.”

“It depends on who’s stirrups they are,” she replied, matter-of-factly, though Thorin could hear some amusement in her tone. “If they’re on Gandalf’s horse, then they’ll come down to my chin. Anyone else’s and they _might_ reach the top of my head.”

Her humor took him by surprise and, once more, he found himself barely able to contain his laughter.

“What? It’s just the truth,” she said, her voice even more lighthearted now. “I mean, if it were a horse meant for me, then I don’t think the horse would even _have_ stirrups. My feet would scarcely reach the bottom of the saddle.” Hearing Fili mumble something in his sleep, she quickly shut her mouth and shrank down into her pillow a bit.

Thorin turned his head in time to watch his nephew roll over. His hand groped around for his blanket before finding part of it. Fili pulled the blanket up and over himself; having grabbed the middle of it, however, only part of him was now covered. Then, with a heavy and content sigh, he settled back down.

“He’s always done that,” Thorin murmured, lightly shaking his head. “He wakes up _just_ enough to find his blanket and then goes back to sleep.”

Baylee peeked out from under her blanket. “My best friend’s littlest sister does the same thing,” she chuckled. “Though, she’s still quite young, so she usually brings that blanket everywhere with her.”

“Fili was the same with his blanket when he was younger…he’d take it everywhere with him.” He let out a soft laugh. “We all thought he’d end up wearing it down to shreds because of how often it was dragged across rocky ground or got caught on bushes…”

“Did that happen? Or did he give it up before that point?”

“He didn’t give it up so much as he gave it away. When Kili was born, he passed it on to him.”

“That was quite sweet of him,” she said, a small smile on her lips. “Something tells me, though, that if Rosalina were to get a little brother or sister, she wouldn’t give her blanket up to them.” She then paused. “…Was it Rosalina? Or was Rosalie the youngest…? No, definitely Rosalina…”

He chuckled, his brow rising. “You can’t keep track of your friend’s siblings?” he asked.

“Usually I can, but they all have ‘rose’ in their name, so it can be a challenge at times,” she explained. “There’s Rosemary, Rosamunde, Primrose, Rosalyn, Rosalie, and Rosalina. Primrose is the easiest to remember, thankfully, and not just because of the ‘prim’ in her name…” She shook her head and quietly laughed. “Da’ likes to call her ‘Primrose and Proper’ because she’s constantly making sure I behave properly for a woman of my status.”

“Is that so? I take it, then, when you return t’ the Shire, you’ll be in for _quite_ the scolding.” There was humor in his voice and, as Baylee peeked at him again, on his face.

“Oh, that doesn’t even come close to it. I’ll be hearing about how I up and left for an adventure with a troupe of dwarves and a wizard until the day I die, I’m sure.” She let out a quiet laugh only to end up covering her mouth as she yawned. “In her mind, however, the biggest offenses will be that I didn’t bid her farewell and the fact that I’m the only female in the company.”

“I wasn’t aware that it was bad form to be the only woman traveling in a group.”

“If da’ weren’t here, it could be considered an extremely scandalous act on my part. Even with him here, though, there will still be some rumors spreading around the Shire, I’m sure.”

His brow rose. “Why would it be considered scandalous if your father weren’t here? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

She would have cocked her head if she weren’t laying down. “…I take it, then, dwarves don’t have any taboos about men and women traveling around together or even just being alone together if they’re not related?” When Thorin shook his head, she quietly laughed once more. “Well, you’re lucky then. Among hobbits, it’s rather frowned upon for an unmarried, unrelated male and female to do anything alone together because, Valar forbid, they could be fooling around or having some premarital romps under the bedsheets.”

This time, he was unable to stifle a snort, though Fili didn’t seem to stir whatsoever from the noise. “I do agree that we dwarves are lucky in that regard. Then again, ‘premarital romps under the bedsheets’ are one of two ways we dwarves become engaged, so we refrain from such activities until we’re sure we want to be with the other for life.”

“What’s the other way you become engaged?”

“If it’s a female being proposed to, then her lover will find the most ornate of necklaces they can for her. If it’s a male that’s being proposed to, then his lover will find the best weaponsmith around and commission his weapon of choice from them.” He rolled onto his side, tucking an arm under his pillow and pulling his blanket up a bit.

She found his phrasing interesting; he made it almost seem like it the couple didn’t have to be male and female in order to get married. Of course, she knew that not all couples were male and female—there were some that were two males or two females—but, as far as she knew, males could only marry females.

“What about hobbits?” he then asked, drawing her from her thoughts. “How do they become engaged?”

A soft laugh left her mouth. “It’s a long process…First, it’s always the male who proposes— _never_ the woman. Secondly, the male has to ask permission from his beloved’s parents in order to marry her, let alone propose to her. If they deny him, then that’s that. He can’t propose to or marry her—though, he’s _sometimes_ given hard-to-complete tasks in order to prove his devotion to his beloved.”

She covered her mouth again as she yawned before excusing herself. “If, however, the parents agree, then he has to find or make a ring for his beloved. It can’t be just any ring, of course. It has to be the _perfect_ ring. After that, he has to once again get approval from her parents. If they like the ring, then he can go off and propose in any way he’d like. Most choose to arrange a romantic, moonlit-picnic or wait until his birthday.”

“Why his birthday and not hers? Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to propose on _her_ birthday, given that’s when she’ll be given gifts?”

Baylee was more than a little surprised to see that, despite how tired he looked, he wore a look of genuine interest as he listened to her. “Hobbits give away gifts on their birthdays,” she explained. “Is it the other way around for dwarves?”

He nodded. “And for humans. After all, it’s a day to celebrate their anniversary of life. It’s a bit curious that hobbits do the opposite. Do you give gifts to everyone or just your closest friends and family?”

“Interesting…I’m not sure why we give gifts on our birthdays, but it’s how it’s always been done. And, really, the amount of gifts given depends on how much you want to spend either in time or money. Some people give gifts to _everyone_ , others only their closest friends and family. Personally, I only give gifts to those I see on a regular basis and their gift is usually some form of dessert.” She covered her mouth as a third yawn crept up on her.

A bit of guilt came to Thorin’s eyes as he noticed just how tired she looked. “I’m sorry…You’re exhausted and I keep asking you all these questions. I should let you sleep.”

She gave him a reassuring, albeit tired, smile. “It’s alright. After all, it’s only fair you get to ask me about hobbitish culture when I’ve asked you about dwarvish history. Though, I do admit sleep _would_ be a good thing for us _both_ to get.”

Nodding, he, quietly laughed. “Then we can continue questioning each other about our cultures another time. Goodnight, Mouse-Lass.”

“Goodnight, Oakenshield,” she chuckled.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because it's hobbit day!

It had been nearly a month since they had left the Last Homely House east of the sea and the company of Thorin Oakenshield (minus Gandalf, for he said he had business to attend to and would meet up with them in the High Pass) found themselves beginning to miss Rivendell. They had traveled over miles of beautiful landscapes—including, at one point, having to cross _under_ three different waterfalls. Bilbo, Baylee, and Ori had enjoyed seeing such sights; when they made camp at night, Bilbo and Ori would go off and find a good vantage point to sit and admire the view.

But now, the view was nothing but rocks, snow, and snow-covered rocks. Two days had passed since they had started climbing the road that would take them through the Misty Mountains. The ground was hard and the path was clear, making their journey easy—for now. As they climbed higher and higher, though, the hobbits started to feel like it was getting harder to breathe.

At first, they thought it was just their minds playing tricks on them; after all, they were climbing uphill and that was _always_ harder on the body than going downhill. But now, on their third night in the mountains, they knew it was no trick.

“Are you alright, Baylee?” Fili set his hand on her back as he leaned over, looking at her with concern. Her face was red and covered in sweat while her breathing was labored. They had been in the middle of her lessons when she suddenly called a halt to the sparring and fell to her knees, her hands and forehead resting against the hilt of her sword. She hadn’t gotten like this with her archery practice earlier, so he was rather perplexed as to why she was suddenly so out of breath.

“H-Hard to-to-to br-breathe,” she wheezed.

Looking to their right, Fili could see that Bilbo was in much the same predicament as his daughter. Nori was awkwardly trying to help the hobbit, though it was clear he didn’t know what was wrong with him either.

“We’ll call it quits for today,” he then said, looking back at Baylee. “There’s no sense in making you practice when you can scarcely breathe.” Letting her hold onto his arm for support, he took her sword—which was an elvish short sword given to her by Lord Elrond—and slid it back into its sheath. Then, scooping her up, he started to carry her towards Nori and Bilbo.

“I swear I didn’t nick ‘im,” Nori said hurriedly as he saw the prince approaching. “He just called a halt to things and—”

“Started complaining about being unable to breathe? I know; Baylee did it, too,” Fili assured him.

Frowning amidst his panting, Bilbo looked up. “B-Baylee? How—” He went silent as Nori shushed him.

“The two o’ you need to concentrate on breathing,” Fili gently scolded. Baylee was surprised by how serious he sounded; it was the first time she hadn’t heard any mirth or mischief in his voice. “Nori, get his sword put away and carry him back to camp. Maybe Oin will know what’s wrong with them.” As Nori nodded, he started to walk back towards camp.

“I-I’m sorry,” Baylee wheezed.

His brow rose and he looked down at her in confusion. “Why are you sorry? You clearly can’t help this.” He then gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure whatever it is, Oin will be able t’ fix the two o’ you right up.”

“N-Not sure it’s-it’s sickness.” Her breathing was finally starting to ease up, though it was still labored. “Si-since yesterday, the-the air—the air’s felt _thin_. Li-like there’s n-not enough of it.”

His brows furrowed. “That…doesn’t make any sense. The air feels the same to me.” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Nori wasn’t too far behind him. As such, he stopped and waited for him to catch up and, when he did, he found Bilbo still panting. “Bilbo, I’m goin’ to ask you something. You only need t’ nod or shake your head, alright?”

Bilbo nodded.

“Does it feel like there’s not enough air up here?”

He nodded again.

“But there’s plenty o’ air here,” Nori said, his confusion evident in both his voice and his expression. “You can’t get much more air than bein’ out in the open in the middle o’ nowhere like this.”

Fili shook his head. “I don’t know. Baylee said she doesn’t think it’s a sickness, but maybe it’s just one she an’ Bilbo don’t know about?”

“Yo-you’d be…you’d be sick, too,” Bilbo grunted.

“We dwarves don’t get sick like humans an’ hobbits,” Nori reminded him. “Mahal made us hardy an’ that means no illnesses for us.”

A quiet sigh left Fili’s mouth and he turned his attention back to the approaching camp. He watched as a few of the dwarves looked at them. Of them, it was Bofur who first noticed that Bilbo and Baylee were being carried. His eyes widened in worry.

“Wh-what’s wrong with the hobbits?!” he cried, his voice echoing around them. His words made the rest others turn to look.

“We’re not sure,” Nori answered. He knelt down and carefully set Bilbo on his bedroll. “They’re sayin’ it’s really hard for them to breathe.” As he stood, he took a step back as Bofur hurried over.

“Th-the air feels thin,” Baylee added as Fili set her down on her bedroll. “It feels—it feels like th-there’s not enough of it.” She started to fan herself with her hand, glancing over in time to see Bofur helping her father take a drink of water from a waterskin. As a few of the others started to gather around them, she felt her cheeks grow a bit redder; both her and Bilbo disliked being the center of attention.

“Do either o’ you have other ailments?” Oin questioned, aiming his hearing trumpet down at them.

Bilbo nodded as he swallowed a bit of water. “I-I’ve had a headache s-since yesterday morning. Haven’t been—haven’t been too hungry, either.”

Baylee bit her lower lip. “I’ve-I’ve felt dizzy on and off since yesterday,” she said, trying to speak loud enough for Oin to hear. “I haven’t been t-too hungry, either; I’ve been feeling a bit—a bit nauseous, actually.” Realizing that fanning herself was only making her become out of breath again, she stopped.

As he listened to them, Oin slowly nodded. “I’ve heard o’ this,” he announced after a moment, “though, I’ve only heard o’ it affecting humans. I suppose it’s because hobbits don’t leave their lowland Shire very often.”

“Is it an illness?” Thorin demanded, his brows furrowed. He watched as Bofur turned to face Baylee now, helping her to drink a bit of water as well.

Oin shook his head before scratching his beard. “Not an illness, no. The lassie says the air feels thin an’ that’s because, to the two o’ them, it _is_ thin. Humans an’ hobbits aren’t as hardy as we dwarves. We thrive in environments they’re weakened by thanks t’ how Mahal molded us.”

“Is there a way t’ treat it?” Bofur questioned, looking up at him with worry. “Will they be alright?”

“They just need t’ get used to it up here, I’m afraid. They should be alright, so long as the road doesn’t take us much higher. They just need time t’ acclimatize.”

Thorin nodded slowly in understanding, crossing his arms over his chest. “Very well then. Mouse-Lass, Master Baggins, this means the two o’ you are to spend the evenings resting. No sword or archery practice and no foraging until we get to lower elevations. Do the two of you understand?” He looked down at the two hobbits—Baylee in particular, as he had come to learn that she often grew restless if she had no tasks to do. “No arguments, either, Mouse-Lass,” he gently warned before she could argue. “We don’t need either of you somehow suffocating out in the open.” He then looked at Bofur. “Bofur, I want you to make sure they follow orders.”

“Understood,” Bofur chirped.

Thorin moved to return to his spot, but then paused. Turning slightly, he wore stoic expression, though there was the slightest hint of humor in his voice. “If Mouse-Lass tries to put up a fight about having to rest, just start telling her about dwarvish culture—that should keep her rooted.”

Just as the color had faded from her cheeks, Baylee felt it rush back into them. Beside her, Bofur was chuckling as he looked at her.

“You like hearin’ about dwarvish culture? I didn’t know that, lass,” he said. “I expected you t’ fancy elvish culture like your da’ here.”

“I can read about elvish culture,” she told him, a bit of a pout still on her lips. “But there’s next to no literature on dwarves.”

He was glad to hear that her breathing was practically back to normal. “Ah, not in Westron, there isn’t,” he agreed. He offered her the waterskin again and she took it. “But in our cities, there’s plenty o’ books about dwarves. Dwarvish history, dwarvish folklore, dwarvish industry—dwarvish anythin’, really.” Sitting cross-legged, he looked down at Bilbo, finding him still sprawled out. His breathing, too, seemed to have returned to normal, bringing a sense of relief to the dwarf. “To be honest, we’re rather secretive folk…an’ you can, one hundred percent, blame that on the elves.”

“How so?” She handed the skin back, using the back of her hand to wipe away a bit of water that had dribbled down her chin. “I mean, I know the two races aren’t fond of one another…”

Nudging Bilbo, Bofur offered him the skin again and chuckled as he greedily took it. “I don’t know the story _too_ well, but the gist of it is that, ages an’ ages ago, elves used t’ hunt dwarves for sport. They didn’t know what we were—they just thought that we were another sort o’ wild animal.”

“That’s horrible,” Bilbo frowned as he corked the skin. As he handed it back to Bofur, a hint of color came to his cheeks when Bofur’s fingers brushed against his. “You’re very clearly not wild animals, even if you do have the manners of one sometimes.”

Both Bofur and Baylee snorted at that. “Hey now,” Bofur joking scolded, wagging his finger at him. “Just because _you_ hobbits think we have the manners o’ wild animals at times doesn’t mean we do. We were just testin’ you that day in Bag End.”

Baylee let out a laugh. “Ha! I _knew_ it had to be some sort of test!”

“Testing me!?” Bilbo pouted. “ _Testing me_?! Testing me for _what_ exactly?”

“Obviously t’ see if you’d be able t’ handle being around us dwarves without losin’ your head,” Bofur stated with a cheeky grin. “Though, I’m afraid you failed that one, Bilbo. Your wee lassie here passed with flyin’ colors, however.” He lightly tousled her hair before leaning back and resting his weight on his palms behind him.

Baylee flattened her hair back down before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear; she met no resistance, as she no longer had to wear the bandage over her eye. Sadly, as it healed over the weeks, her vision had deteriorated, leaving her totally blind in that eye. “Believe me…I only _looked_ calm that night. Inside, I assure you, I was panicking. Especially given how much food you lot were eating. I thought our pantry would have been left entirely empty.” With her hair disheveled anyway, she untied the ribbons holding it in place before making quick work of undoing the braids.

“Yes, but they instead left our pantry only _mostly_ empty,” Bilbo sighed. “I don’t want to think about the sort of mess we’re going to return home to find.” His nose scrunched up and he stuck his tongue out. “Our impeccably clean Bag End…smelling like long-rotten food and over-fermented wine…”

“Could’a been worse,” Bofur chirped. “You could have left with a _full_ pantry!” He looked over at Baylee as she started to comb her hair. “Anyway, it’s just one room—it won’t be _too_ much t’ clean up.”

“One— _one_ room!? Bofur, we had food stored in our kitchen, too! And, if-if-if I recall, there was half a pot of porridge near the hearth when I went running out of Bag End!”

At that, Baylee cringed. “Er…that was my doing, I’m afraid. I had thought I would have eaten more of it, but then I got distracted with cooking for the lads,” she explained.

He wagged a stern finger at his daughter—at least, it would have been stern if he weren’t sprawled out on his bedroll like a child. “That was one of our best pots, young lady! No doubt, by now, it’s ruined!”

She wore an apologetic look. “I’ll have Mister Goldworthy make us a new one when we get back.”

“That’s _if_ you remember,” Bofur chuckled.

“Oh, she will—Baylee’s memory is quite good,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “You could practically name a date and she could tell you what took place that day.” Closing his eyes, he sighed again; he had to admit, out of all the dwarves, he got along with Bofur the best. Even if he could be frustratingly optimistic at times.

“It’s not _that_ good,” she retorted, her brow rising. When she saw a small smirk come to Bilbo’s lips, she paused in her combing, knowing he was about to say something embarrassing.

“Says the girl who probably remembers that kiss Halfast gave her in perfect detail.”

Her lips pursed in a pout and her cheeks turned red; as Bofur began to snicker, though, they grew beet red. She started to comb her hair a little more quickly.

“I wasn’t aware you had yourself a lad!” he grinned.

“That’s because I _don’t_ have myself a lad.” She cleared her throat. “He—he and I aren’t exactly courting,” she told him. Then, realizing how that sounded, she quickly added, “Nor are we married! We’re—we’re just friends!”

Bofur’s brow rose as he took his hat off, deciding to also redo his braids. “Ah, lass, I don’t think friends kiss each other—‘cept, maybe, on the cheek. Or if they’re drunk,” he chuckled. “An’ judging by how red you are, the kiss he gave you _wasn’t_ one o’ those.” From under his tunic, he pulled out a metal pendant that hung around his neck on a silver chair. He pulled it in half, revealing the lower portion to be a comb.

Still wearing the pout, she glanced away; she felt herself starting to get a bit out of breath from detangling her hair in addition to all the talking. “It was just one—”

“Two,” Bilbo interjected. He was doing his best to bite back a grin, but was failing miserably. “You told me he gave you _two_ kisses.”

“It was just _two_ quick kisses on the day that we left,” she grumbled. “That’s not remotely close to courting. Anyway, by the time we get back, he’ll probably have his eye on another lass…” Closing her eyes, she let her hands come to rest in her lap, trying to catch her breath.

Since her eyes were shut, she didn’t see the rather fatherly frown Bofur gave her and the _exceedingly_ fatherly frown Bilbo was wearing.

Sitting up, Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest. “And just _what_ makes you think that, young lady!?” he demanded, his tone stern. His frown grew slightly when he noticed that she was breathing a bit heavier.

She shrugged. “We have no idea how long we’re going to be gone,” she explained. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but she most definitely wasn’t about to tell them that was because of her looks that she thought Halfast wouldn’t want to court her anymore. “We could be gone for just a handful of months or we could be gone for a handful of _years_. In either of those time frames, another lass could easily catch his eye.” Opening her eyes again, she resumed combing her hair; it was free of any tangles, but it kept her hands busy.

It was Bofur’s turn to shake a scolding finger at her. “Now that’s not anyway t’ go thinkin’, lass.” Finishing combing the first half of his hair, he started on the other half. “If the lad likes you enough t’ give you two smooches before you leave, then it’s not going t’ be very easy t’ sway his mind away from thoughts o’ you. Anyway, I doubt there are many hobbit lasses out there that can compare t’ you—how many o’ them tried t’ rescue their dads from a group o’ trolls?”

“None, that’s how many,” Bilbo agreed with a nod. “Not to mention how sweet, thoughtful, and caring you are. And you’re a _wonderful_ baker—practically the whole Shire knows about your cranberry-orange bread! What kind of lad would go after a different lass when he’s got _you_ , hmm?”

Her brow rose slightly. ‘It feels like I’ve got two fathers and they’re both scolding me,’ she thought. ‘With da’ being the sterner one of the two and Bofur being the sillier one.’

“Ooh, cranberry-orange bread?” Bofur then chuckled. “Don’t tell Fili about that. The lad _loves_ cranberries.” He paused for a moment, thinking over his words. A mischievous grin came to his lips. “Then again, if you _do_ tell him about the bread, then it might be this Halfast lad who has t’ worry about _you_ gettin’ wooed away from him.”

“Now _that_ I highly doubt would happen,” she snorted. “My bread is good, but it’s not _nearly_ good enough to make a dwarven prince not only court someone outside of his status, but also court a hobbit.”

Bilbo, still wearing a frown, rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to wonder if I raised you to be _too_ humble.”

She frowned. “I’m not being humble. I’m bein’ honest.”

“Yes-Yes, you are! Your bread is fantastic enough that it _would_ make a dwarf fall in love with you. I-I-I daresay it’d make even an _elf_ fall in love with you!” Bilbo argued, getting rather flustered by her modesty—or, rather, what he took as her modesty.

Baylee gave him a bland look; Bilbo hated to admit it, but with her left eye being almost colorless now, it was actually a fairly eerie expression. Before she could say anything, however, Bofur spoke.

“This isn’t an argument either o’ you can win. I hope both o’ you know that,” he told them. “Everyone’s got different thoughts on what’s humble an’ what’s not—clearly, the two o’ you have entirely different definitions.” Having finished combing his hair by that point, he was now halfway done with braiding half his hair. “Though, I do agree with you a bit, lass. It’d take more than just cranberry-orange bread t’ woo an elf. You’d have t’ make lots o’ salad, too.” A cheeky grin came to his lips as she gave him a small shove.

* * *

Another three days of travel took them even higher into the mountains before the road evened out. By that point, both hobbits were having a hard time walking; they had to stop almost every half hour despite their best efforts to push themselves. In the end, they reluctantly let themselves be carried.

But with another week’s passing, the road finally began to head back down. After three days of descending and a day of rest, Bilbo and Baylee were able to walk on their own again—for which they were quite relieved. For Bilbo, it had been embarrassing, being unable to walk more than a dozen yards on his own; Bofur, however, had assured him that he didn’t mind in the least, as Bilbo was quite light compared to his pack. For Baylee, being carried wasn’t so much as embarrassing as it was disheartening, since it left her feeling less like a Mouse-Lass and more like a piece of luggage. Fili and Kili (who took turns carrying her), though, told her to stop fretting and that, as soon as they were back in the lowlands, she could go back to her foraging and her sword practice.

Traveling at the lower altitude wasn’t _entirely_ joyful for the group, however: Not only did the road grow quite narrow, but the weather also started to turn. It grew grey and the air got heavier. As the road evened out on their fourth day of descending, the wind started to pick up and, with it, a strange scent filled their noses. It was almost sweet, but there was a sharpness to it that told them a storm was fast approaching.

And fast it was.

It was the time they usually stopped to make camp when the first sheets of rain started to pour down. With little in the way of shelter, the company decided to press on until they could find a cave or wider strip of path where they could seek some refuge from the weather.

As they would soon learn, they should have stopped where they were.

The storm grew worse as the night grew darker and no shelter was to be found. The wind grew stronger and colder and it blew against them, making it difficult to walk at times. It also drove the rain against their faces with such force that it felt like dozens of tiny needles were stabbing into them. When lightning ripped the sky in half and thunder followed shortly after, it was so loud and so close, it felt like the entire mountain shook.

Baylee found herself thankful that she was walking between Kili and Bifur. Bifur, being wider and taller than her, blocked most of the wind and rain from hitting her. There were times, however, when they would come around a bend that the wind would practically slam her small frame into the rock wall.

The worse part, however, was the path. It was already narrow, but there were times when the edge would crumble away as someone walked past it, startling them. At one point, Bilbo nearly went tumbling because of a collapsing edge, but Bofur and Nori quickly pulled him backwards, keeping him from certain death.

As lightning lit up the sky, something moved in the corner of her vision. Looking up, her eyes widened in horror and she cried out, pointing up as an enormous hunk of rock flew through the air. Dwalin, having seen her pointing, looked up as well.

“WATCH OUT!” he shouted, his voice rising above the storm.

Shoving herself against the wall, Baylee felt her heart racing in her chest. What in the world could make a chunk of rock that large fly through the air as if it were a pebble? As the rock impacted with the mountainside above them, it made the mountain tremble like an earthquake. It shattered on impact, large bits and pieces of rock raining down. Thankfully, none of them hit any dwarves or hobbits.

“This isn’t a thunderstorm!” Balin called out in a mixture of terror and awe. “It’s a thunder _battle_!” He pointed in the distance, where the silhouette of gigantic creature could be seen. As lightning flashed, Baylee saw that it was some sort of creature birthed from the mountainside itself. It tore the top off one of the lower mountains with ease and got ready to throw it.

“ _Bless me_!” Bofur gawked as the creature chucked the boulder towards them. “The legends were true! _Giants_! Stone giants!”

“Take cover, you fool!” Thorin shouted above the wind.

Bilbo and Fili pulled Bofur just as the boulder hit the rock above them. Once more, stone came toppling down around them, threatening to crush them if they hadn’t taken cover. The impact, however, had been great enough that the mountain began to shift and shake. A large, vertical crack formed in the wall and, suddenly, the wall began to split in half—it also split the company in half.

“Kili!” Fili shouted, reaching out towards his brother. “Grab my hand! Ki—”

Kili and Baylee watched in horror as Fili, Bofur, Bilbo, Dwalin, Dori, Ori, and Bombur were pulled away from them by the mountain. Glancing upwards, Baylee did a doubletake—she saw a pair of arms emerge from the stone above them.

They were on the leg of a second giant, who was pushing itself up from a seated position. Before it could stand entirely upright, however, the first giant came over and slammed its head into the second. The second giant fell backwards against the mountainside.

“Go, go!” Thorin shouted, running forward.

A curse left Baylee’s mouth as Kili picked her up and put her over his shoulder before running forward as well. Just as the giant started to stand up once more, he jumped over the gap between its leg and the solid mountain ahead of them. His landing wasn’t the most graceful and he fell onto his stomach, accidentally flinging the hobbit lass onto the ground. Thankfully, her petticoats acted as a bit of a cushion.

“Cover!” Gloin shouted, watching as a massive fist came flying towards the second giant.

Grabbing the stunned Kili, Baylee dragged him backwards as she scooted back against the wall. Her timing couldn’t have been better; just a few seconds after she pulled him back, a chunk of rock slammed into the spot where he had fallen, taking part of the ledge with it.

Above them, a _third_ giant emerged from the mountain nearly three hundred yards away. A single one of its steps, however, easily covered half that distance. While the first two giants were distracted with punching one another, it ripped off part of a small mountain and threw it at them. The boulder slammed into the back of the second giant’s head. It stumbled forward a step before its legs gave out from beneath it. The group watched in horror as the others, still stuck on the giant’s leg, rushed towards the solid mountainside.

“Da’!” Baylee cried, though her voice was lost to the storm. She felt her stomach churn as the leg slammed into the wall.

There was no way they had survived that impact. A few seconds later, the giant toppled backwards, falling into the chasm below.

Hoping beyond hope that their friends and family were still alive, the group scrambled to their feet and raced forward. The path widened out as they rounded a small bend, making it so they could sprint without worry of falling over the edge. Then, as they went around another turn, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Somehow, the group had survived. They were laying in a disoriented heap, but they were alive. Kili rushed past Baylee, running to help his brother up while she stood back, looking for Bilbo. Bofur, also looking for the hobbit, called out his name.

“Help!”

Bilbo’s voice came not from the pile ahead of them, but instead from below. Her brows furrowing, Baylee swore loudly as she saw her father dangling from the edge of the cliff.

Her eyes shot open and her heart skipped a beat in fright. “Da’!” Diving forward, she grabbed onto his wrist, trying to help pull him up. But while she had been able to drag Kili along the ground, she was not able to pull her father up and over the cliff’s edge. “Help!” she cried, desperation in her voice.

She suddenly screamed as Bilbo’s wrist slipped out of her grip and he started to fall. The Valar must have been on their side, however, for Bilbo was able to catch himself a few feet down on a small outcropping _just_ wide enough for his hands to hold on.

Cries arose from the dwarves and, suddenly, Ori and Bofur were beside the hobbit lass, their arms outstretched as they tried to reach for her father. They were just short of reaching him, however, even when they scooted forward in an attempt to reach lower.

Out of nowhere, Thorin grabbed hold of the road’s edge and swung himself down. Grabbing the back of Bilbo’s jacket, he hoisted him up far enough that Ori and Bofur were able to take hold of him and pull him up. As he started to pull himself up, however, the bit of edge he was clinging onto crumbled. Before he could fall more than a few inches, however, Dwalin was able to snatch Thorin’s wrist. With some effort, he managed to get the king pulled back up to safety.

Baylee scrambled forward, practically throwing herself against her father as she hugged onto him. A small sob left her mouth as she felt him cling onto her in return. “I thought I’d lost you,” she choked out.

“I thought so, too,” he admitted, holding her close. “But I’m safe now. Everything’s alright, Baylee. I’m here.” He kissed the top of her head; his heart was still racing inside his chest. Twice in the span of five minutes he had looked death in the face only to walk away, unscathed.

Part of him was horrified.

But another, larger part of him was absolutely _thrilled_.

“Come on, dear,” he said after a few minutes. Holding onto her with one arm, he used the other to push himself to his feet. Getting his daughter righted, he set his hands on her shoulders and, leaning back slightly, gave her a reassuring smile. “No more tears. We’re both safe and sound. And, from the sounds of it, Dwalin’s found a cave for us to hide in.”

Sniffling, she turned her head to see Thorin ushering the others into a cave about twenty yards ahead of them. She nodded, her lower lip still wobbling slightly, and started to walk forward. Bilbo followed along behind her, though he paused at the cave’s entrance.

“Thank you,” he said to Thorin. “You—you risked your life to save me. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

Thorin shook his head. “Now’s not the time t’ think of such things,” he replied, his voice a bit gruff. He followed Bilbo into the cave, finding Oin and Gloin getting ready to assemble a fire pit. “No—No fires,” he told them. “Not in this place.” He moved a bit further into the cave. “Get some sleep. We start at first light.”

“We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us,” Balin said, a frown on his face. “That was the plan.”

“Plans change.” He looked over at Bofur. “Bofur, take the first watch.”

Bofur nodded, moving to sit closest to the cave’s entrance. As Baylee sat down, she couldn’t help but notice how Bilbo picked a spot rather close to Bofur.

‘Those two seem to have grown quite close over the last few weeks,’ she thought, shrugging off her pack. ‘I’m glad da’s finally made a friend in the group, though I can’t help but wonder if—’ She squeaked as, out of nowhere, a cloak landed overtop her.

“You’re shaking like a leaf in a storm,” Fili said as he and Kili sat down on either side of her.

“She’s about the size o’ a leaf in a storm,” Kili chuckled.

Poking her head out from under the cloak—which was, actually, quite warm—she found it to be Fili’s. “Th-thank you,” she said, hugging it closer to her body. She then frowned. “Am I shaking…?” Holding out her hand, she found that she was, indeed, shaking quite badly.

“Can’t blame you,” Fili told her. “The mixture o’ adrenaline, relief, an’ the cold can shake a little thing like you up quite badly.”

She half-heartedly smiled. “Says the one who nearly died and isn’t shaking at all.”

Fili shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve looked death in the face…Though, it is the first time I’ve stood on death’s kneecap.” He grinned as both Kili and Baylee snorted.

“You should try and get some rest, Baylee,” Kili then told her. “Uncle’s not lying when he says ‘first light’. And there’s no tellin’ how far off that is.”

Nodding, she moved to lay down, still wrapped up in Fili’s cloak. Her brows furrowed slightly. “Why…Why is the floor covered in sand?” she thought aloud. Picking up a handful of the stuff, she let it fall through her fingers back onto the ground. “There shouldn’t be sand in the mountains…” Her nose scrunched up and she sat up once more, removing her sword belt from around her waist before putting the sword on the ground next to her. Then, once again, she laid down, keeping the Fili’s cloak wrapped around her.

“You’d be surprised,” Kili yawned. “With all the wind—and, apparently, fights between stone giants—the smaller rocks can easily get ground down t’ nothing. Bein’ so light, they accumulate wherever they can get caught. In this case, a cave.”

“Fili, Kili, Baylee,” came Thorin’s voice. “ _Sleep_.”

Baylee shrank down in the cloak; that was the first time she had heard Thorin use her proper name since the day she resolved to call him only by ‘Oakenshield’. This time, though, it wasn’t the least bit lighthearted.

“He’ll be less grumpy in the morning,” Fili whispered, unaware of how well his voice carried in the cave.

“ _Fili_.”

The prince quickly laid himself down and tucked his hands behind his head. He glanced over at Baylee, giving her a cheeky grin before closing his eyes.

Also closing her eyes, Baylee let out a soft sigh. ‘It still bothers me that there’s so much sand in here,’ she thought. ‘While I now know it’s entirely possible—and that there’s certainly been enough time for it to have accumulated _this_ much—it still feels wrong. But maybe that’s just me being on edge after everything that happened tonight?’ A nearly-silent sigh left her mouth; she was still shaking, but not nearly as bad, and she was already beginning to feel the effects of sleep taking hold of her. ‘Whatever it is, I hope it goes away soon…’


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little warning to ya'll: This chapter depicts scenes of gore and violence. I tried to not get too detailed when it came to injuries and the like, but I do describe some spraying blood and such. ...Which is part of the reason why this was my favorite chapter to write thus far. Anyway. Here's the long-awaited Goblin Town chapter!

She didn’t know what time it was when she awoke with a start. Bolting upright, Baylee quietly panted, looking around in a mixture of fear and shock. The company, save for Bilbo (who was now on watch), was still fast asleep and the only light to be found came from the lantern at her father’s side. Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh of relief and flopped backwards.

Her hands covered her face and she let out another sigh. She had been having a horrible nightmare that involved a pair of stone giants emerging from the sides of a single, massive mountain. From inside the mountain, an enormous dragon had come forth. All three creatures had started to chase the company and, one by one, the members had been caught and killed in some fashion until only she and Bilbo remained. They had just managed to find shelter when the ground started to crumble beneath her father’s feet. As he started to fall, she had managed to grab his hand but, try as she might, she hadn’t been strong enough to pull him to safety.

‘That was a bad one,’ she thought. When she rubbed her face, she found her cheeks to be a bit damp and sticky with half-dried tears. It didn’t help that she had been having nightmares more and more frequently ever since they left Rivendell. ‘Why do I keep having so many nightmares? Before this, I’d have one— _maybe_ two—a _year_. But now I’m having them practically every other night.’

Letting her arms fall to her sides, she turned her head to look at her father as he sat by the cave entrance. She then frowned; the lantern was on his right, which faced away from her. And yet, she could see a bit of cool light coming from his _left_ side. She wondered what it could be.

And then she remembered.

Looking down at her own sword, Baylee found a bit of light escaping from the very top of the scabbard. Her mouth went dry and her heart started to race; sitting upright once more, she snatched up her sword.

Seeing movement in the corner of his eye, Bilbo glanced over only to find his daughter wide awake and sitting up, making him frown in confusion. “Bay—” His eyes widened in horror as the area around her was bathed in cool, blue light. Swearing, he copied her and pulled his sword partway out.

It, too, glowed bright blue.

“Wake up!” Baylee cried. “Everyone, wake—”

The floor trembled and loud, metallic groans filled their ears. As the dwarves started to stir, clanks could be both heard and felt from below. Now being wide awake, Baylee had the sense to quickly buckle her sword around her waist—and just in time.

A large crack formed in the ground, allowing the sand to fall through it and, just a few seconds later, the floor fell out from beneath them. Shouts and cries of fear filled the air as the fifteen companions fell down into a semi-smooth tunnel that acted more as a slide than anything. More than once, the group found themselves being flung through the air only to land on hard stone again.

Just as quickly as the terrifying slide began, it ended. The dwarves and hobbits were all but spat out of a chute and down onto a walled off, wooden landing. As luck would have it, Bombur landed on the top of the dwarf-and-hobbit pile, making nearly everyone below him curse.

Before they could even _think_ about gathering their wits about them, however, they heard snarls and growls. The next thing they knew, there was a crowd of goblins rushing towards them. They tried to scramble to their feet, but there wasn’t enough room, nor did they have enough time. As such, when the goblins reached them, the dwarves who were closest to the front did their best to kick the creatures away.

It was of no use as the sheer number of goblins quickly overwhelmed them. One by one, the members of the company were hauled to their feet and dragged forward. Long, spindly fingers searched their persons as they were pulled, looking for weapons and anything of value.

Though these goblins were much smaller than the orcs they had seen, Baylee found them to be just as terrifying. Their skin was so pale, she could see the black veins beneath it and their bodies were covered in blemishes and oozing pustules. Worse of all was their faces: They were squashed flat with many having only two slits for a nose and their teeth were long, sharp, and yellow.

Like the others, she was dragged forward and started to get searched. She struggled against the hands pulling and tugging at her. “Don’t touch me!” she cried, managing to wrench herself away from one. There was a ripping sound and, as she glanced back, she was just barely able to see another holding a piece of her dress. Looking ahead of her once more, she cursed when she found one of the goblins starting to lift the front of her dress and petticoats. Instinctively, she raised her foot and slammed it into the goblin’s gut; she was more than a little surprised when it was sent flying backwards over the ledge.

A squeak suddenly left her mouth as she was yanked forward. The goblin hadn’t let go of her clothes. No one noticed as she went toppling over the edge of the path and started to slide down another semi-smooth rock wall.

There was no landing platform at the end of this wall, however—just a sheer drop off into the abyss.

Her mind racing with thoughts of her imminent death, Baylee turned her head left and right, looking for anything that could slow her fall. The goblin swung its other arm up, able to grab hold of her ankle. As its nails dug into her flesh, she cried out in pain and tried to use her free leg to kick it away from her.

Then, she saw it: About two feet away from the end of the wall, there was a rope dangling. Looking up, she found that it was connected to one of the many wooden bridges.

‘Yavanna, bless me with good timing,’ she thought, kicking at the goblin again. This time, she got it in the face, but it refused to let go of her leg. For a third time, she kicked it and it only dug its nails deeper into her leg, leaving a set of bloody gouges in her ankle.

The end of the wall was getting closer and closer. Forcing herself to forget about the goblin for now, she kept her focus on the rope.

Ten yards away; she did her best to angle her body to be more in line with it.

Five yards away; she made sure nothing was blocking her arms.

Two yards away; she wondered if her heart would give out from beating so fast.

One yard away; she reached out—

“Got it!” she cried, gripping onto the rope for dear life. To her great pain and horror, however, the goblin continued to cling onto her. Unable to hold their combined weight, she felt her hands sliding down the rope, the rough fibers tearing at her palms. Having no time to think, she risked letting go with one hand and drew her sword. She swung it down as if it were an axe, feeling flesh and bone split in half under the sharp blade.

The goblin finally let go of her leg, falling into the abyss.

Baylee gripped harder at the rope; she stopped sliding. As she dangled there, she awkwardly put her sword back in its sheath and grabbed onto the rope with her other hand. For a moment, she allowed herself to just hang there and take in what had just happened.

“I…I killed a goblin,” she whispered, looking down into the darkness below. “ _I killed a goblin_. Prim is not going to like that…”

Swallowing hard, she turned her vision upwards, focusing her attention on the top of the rope. She started to pull herself up the rope, doing her best to ignore the pain in her palms and leg.

‘Yavanna, thank you for letting me survive that,’ she thought, her nose scrunching up as she continued to climb. It was hard work; she was used to carrying heavy trays of food, yes, but pulling her own weight up a rope was an entirely new experience. By the time she was halfway up, her shoulders and back were burning fiercely and her hands ached from holding the rope so tightly.

When she finally reached the top, her body was shaking from the exertion. Dragging herself up onto the bridge, she quietly panted in an attempt to get her breath back. As she knelt there, she could feel sweat rolling down the back of her neck while tears rolled down her cheeks. She shakily raised her hand to her face and wiped away some of the tears only to look at her hand and frown. Shaking her head, she swallowed hard and focused on breathing.

After just a moment or two passed, she drew her sword and used the blade—which no longer glowed—to help push her to her feet.

‘I have to find da’ and the others,’ she told herself, her shoulders still heaving with the effort of breathing. ‘I have to find them. I don’t know what’ll happen when I get there, but I know I _must_ find them.’

Her legs felt like jelly as she walked and there were times she stumbled, but using her sword as a bit of a walking stick, she was able to stay upright. The longer she walked, the more she started to notice that she could hear a horrible sound in the distance. It _almost_ sounded like it could be music, but if it was, it was unlike any sort she had heard before.

She drew near to a bend and her sword suddenly lit up, making her frown. Pressing herself against the rock wall, she kept the blade wedged between her body and the stone so its glow wouldn’t attract any attention. Concentrating on listening, she could hear voices coming closer to her spot; what the voices were saying, though, she didn’t know, as they didn’t speak in Westron. Taking a few, cautious steps forward, she peeked around the edge of the corner in order to see what was coming.

Three goblins were hobbling down the path; two of them seemed to be arguing while the third acted as an instigator rather than a moderator. They were moving at a rather quick pace and the arguing pair seemed rather flustered.

‘I have two choices,’ she told herself. ‘I could let them pass by without seeing me or I could try to take them on…’ Biting her lower lip, she shrank down slightly, making herself less visible. ‘I don’t think I could take on three goblins just yet. I was only able to take out that one because he was dangling below me…’

She did her best to keep her breathing slow and even as she heard the goblins draw nearer and nearer. They soon came around the corner, the two still arguing while the third continued to fan the flames. Out of nowhere, the taller of the three grabbed the middle one and, yelling at it in the strange language, slammed it against the wall—right beside Baylee.

For a few seconds, the four creatures exchanged confused looks. Then, taking the initiative, Baylee darted away from the wall and stabbed her sword into the tall goblin’s gut. Remembering how Fili had taught her to twist when pulling the blade out, she did just that before hopping backwards to put some distance between her and the other two.

As their companion fell to the ground, clutching its stomach in agony, the other two finally came to their senses and drew their swords—at least, they looked like swords, but they seemed to be made out of bone and rock. They charged forward, slashing and hacking at the hobbit lass.

Having never fought against more than one opponent and having only one good eye, Baylee found it extremely difficult to keep track of both goblins. What didn’t help was their erratic movements. It made it hard for her to know when to block and when to simply hop out of the way. At one point, she felt one of them make contact with her upper arm, but she was too distracted by the fight to notice the pain.

And then, she got an opening.

The shorter of the two goblins had thwacked the other in the face on accident. With the one stunned, she was able to lunge forward and, using both hands, brought the sword into the side of its neck. Not being as strong as the dwarves, she wasn’t able to decapitate the creature, so when she pulled the sword back out, she was hit by a spray of its hot, black blood.

“Yuck, yuck, yuck!” she squeaked, feeling it splatter across her face. She didn’t have time to wipe it away, however, as the final goblin rushed towards her. It swung its sword and she ducked under the blade only to be knocked to the ground as it backhanded her. Some _extremely_ unladylike words left her mouth as she landed, hard, on her shoulder. Looking up, she rolled out of the way as the goblin tried to stab her.

Scrambling to her feet, Baylee held her sword in a defensive position. With just this one left, it was easier for her to fight—she was even able to move forward as she attacked, forcing it to back up towards the edge of the path. If she had had time to think, she would have realized that her movements were far more instinctive and fluid than when she had first started learning how to use a sword.

The goblin stabbed at her, but she sidestepped. Grabbing its arm, she yanked it towards her, impaling it on her sword. A look of shock came to its face and it gurgled in a mixture of pain and surprise. Baylee shoved it backwards, pulling her sword from its torso. It fell to the ground, black blood oozing from its mouth and the hole in his gut. She looked at her sword, watching as its glow faded away with the goblin’s dying breaths.

With a new burst of adrenaline coursing through her veins, she took off at a sprint. The awful music was getting louder, though not by much, and she hoped that the music wasn’t in celebration of the dwarves and her father getting slaughtered…

‘Surely I would hear more cheering and less music if that was happening?’ she told herself in an attempt to keep her hopes up. ‘Yes, that would almost certainly be the case.’

While sprinting, she looked at the path ahead only to wince: The entire area was a maze of bridges, gangways, stone paths, tightropes, and tunnels leading off to who-knew-where. The music echoed up from some of these tunnels, making it sound like it was all around her. Part of her cursed the horrid racket, as it hurt her ears, but she also found it to be a blessing, as it was (hopefully) guiding her towards the others.

But then, a new sound joined the music: The sound of fighting. Her brows furrowed and she, as she neared a tunnel, her sword began to glow blue for a third time. Peeking around the edge of the tunnel’s entrance, she could see that it was only a couple of yards long. On the opposite side was a sight for sore eyes:

Gandalf.

He was surrounded by a group of about ten goblins and, though he was wielding both his sword and his staff with great skill, the constantly shifting crowd was proving difficult for him. Baylee knew she had an advantage; so focused on Gandalf the goblins were that they paid her no heed as she crept up behind them.

Baylee had brought down three before her presence was finally noticed by both wizard and goblin. She jumped backwards as a large goblin—it had to have been taller than Dwalin at the very _least_ —swung a club covered in jagged, metal spikes at her. As the club slammed into the wall, the hobbit gave a small hop and was able to bring her blade across its neck.

Turning around, she didn’t have time to react as another goblin swung at her head with its fist. The boney knuckles slammed into the side of her face and she stumbled backwards, stars filling her vision and pain filling her jaw and cheek. Falling against the wall, she tried to brace herself in an effort to remain upright. She shook her head, clearing most of the bright lights from her eye in time to see the same goblin rushing towards her, an axe held above its head.

With a pained grunt, she thrust her sword forward. The goblin impaled itself on the blade, but as it did so, a second blade was shoved through its chest. Looking up, Baylee saw Gandalf no more than three feet from the goblin; he drew his sword from the creature with ease.

The crowd of goblins now lay on the ground, dead or dying.

“You’ve become quite the warrior, Miss Baggins,” Gandalf chuckled. He helped her stand upright. “How in the world did you avoid capture?”

She shook her head; the side of her face both ached and stung and tears were pouring from her eyes once more. “I-I kicked a goblin who was—who was trying to look up my dress.” Her cheeks turned red in embarrassment, though a good portion of it was hidden by the orc blood. “He went toppling over the edge of the cliff and, since he was still holding onto my dress, I was pulled with him. We fell down a wall, but I was able to grab a rope.”

He nodded in understanding before motioning for her to follow him. “Come, Miss Baggins. We must find them soon. I fear that these goblins may be in league with Azog.”

Though Gandalf was only walking fast, he was tall enough that Baylee practically had to run to keep up with him. More than once, though, she was able to catch up when he stopped at a crossroads where he had her listen to find which direction the music was loudest in.

After what seemed like hours, but what was, in fact, just minutes, Baylee poked her head around a corner. “There they are!” she whispered loudly. Glancing up at Gandalf, she found the wizard leaning over her so he, too, could see around the corner.

The dwarves had been herded out onto a wooden platform. Behind them was an army of goblins practically stacked atop one another. More goblins were coming up behind them, hauling what looked like devices meant for torture.

In front of company, though, was the largest and most disgusting looking creature Baylee had ever laid eyes on: An enormous, fat goblin who almost certainly towered over Gandalf. Even without the comically small crown of bone atop his head, she knew he had to have been the king of these creatures—he was too big not to be.

“Stay close behind me, Miss Baggins,” Gandalf quietly ordered.

She nodded, waiting for him to pass her before following. Noticing how he kept his sword tucked behind his back, hiding its glow from anyone in front of them, she did the same. The pair moved slowly as they made their way towards the wooden gangway; thankfully, the goblins seemed too focused on the dwarves to pay any heed to the hobbit and wizard.

Gandalf halted in his tracks as one of the goblins let out a shriek of horror. A few seconds later, the Great Goblin let out a shout of fear and threw himself backwards onto his throne.

“I know that sword!” he shouted. Baylee could see a bit of blue light against his pale flesh. “It is the Goblin-Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!” The goblins shouted and howled in anger before they started to whip the dwarves with ropes and chains. “Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them _all_!” He pointed at one of the dwarves in particular; Baylee guessed it was Thorin, as it was his sword that had caused such an uproar. “Cut off his head!”

Gandalf started to move again. “When I give the signal, close your eyes,” he told her, his words hurried.

She said nothing, once more finding herself sprinting to keep up with him. They shoved their way past some goblins, who were too shocked by their presence to do anything. Then, reaching the gangway, Gandalf lifted his staff.

Baylee clenched her eyes shut.

Barely a second later, there was what could only be described as an explosion of light. It was bright enough that Baylee’s vision went entirely white—and that was _with_ her eyes being shut. Standing immediately behind the wizard, she didn’t get blasted by the energy sent out by his staff, but she could hear the groaning and creaking of wood as some of the torture devices were sent flying down into the chasm below.

Her vision faded back to black and she opened her eyes. Everyone but her and Gandalf had been knocked to the ground, stunned by the explosion. She moved to walk beside Gandalf as he cautiously made his way forward.

“Take up arms,” Gandalf called out to the dwarves. “Fight! _FIGHT!”_

All at once, the dwarves started getting to their feet. Those closest to the Great Goblin dashed forward, gathering up their fallen weapons and tossing them backwards to their companions. Gandalf and Baylee charged forward, knowing they had to help clear a path for the others to escape by.

With the goblins focused on the tall wizard and the dwarves, fighting was—temporarily, anyway—easier for Baylee. She was able to sneak up behind he creatures, stabbing them or slicing them open with her sword. Hearing a loud crack and a cry, she looked over in time to see the Great Goblin topple over the edge of the platform.

“Follow me!” Gandalf shouted. “Quick! Run!”

The wizard took off down a pathway and the company hurried after him. They ran along stone paths and wooden gangways, pursued by hundreds and hundreds of goblins. As they fled through Goblin Town, their flight was made more difficult by the creatures, who were coming at them from all sides. With their weapons still in hand, the group began hewing down any and all goblins that stood in or alongside their path.

Somehow, the group managed to get split in two: Gandalf led one group along an upper set of gangways while Dwalin led the lower group. As the upper group ran by some scaffolding, there was a shriek from the goblins. Looking across the cavern, they saw ten or twelve goblins swinging towards them on ropes.

“Cut the ropes!” Thorin shouted as he brought his sword through one of the scaffolding’s anchor ropes. Hearing a small, rather feminine grunt, he looked down in time to see Baylee slice through one of the ropes. He would have been impressed if he had had the time to think about anything other than survival.

The group didn’t stay long enough to see the scaffolding fall forward, entangling the goblins swinging towards them.

Unaware that half the company was no longer present, Gandalf continued to lead them through the maze; how he knew where to go was a mystery. After what felt like miles, the two groups reconvened at one of the many forks in the road.

They pressed on, not wanting to perish down in Goblin Town. Through more tunnels and along more walkways, they ran. All the while, they continued to hew down goblins left and right.

“It’s not far now!” Gandalf called out as they approached a bridge connecting their side of the cavern to the opposite side. He was halfway across it when the other half of the bridge burst upwards. The group skidded to a halt; those in back slammed into those in front. As the dust settled, they found the Great Goblin blocking their path.

“You thought you could escape from me?” he sneered. He swung his massive club at Gandalf, who just barely managed to jump back. He swung again and, once more, the wizard was only _just_ able to get out of the way. “What are you going to do now, _wizard_?” he mocked, taking a challenging step forward.

Gandalf was silent for a few seconds. Then, throwing himself forward, he raised his staff. The Great Goblin let out a howl of pain as the gnarled end slammed into his eye. He stumbled back and Gandalf pressed forward, bringing the blade of his sword across his stomach, cutting open thick layers of fat and muscle.

Falling to his knees, the Great Goblin covered the wound on his stomach. “…That’ll do it,” he said, admitting defeat. A gurgling sound left his mouth as Gandalf slammed his sword into the side of his neck. Thick, black blood sprayed out and he collapsed forward.

The sudden jolt of his massive weight made the bridge creak and groan. Baylee’s eyes widened when she felt the wood start to shift and wobble. With an almost deafening crack, the bridge broke away from its supports and started to slide down into the cavern. Shouts and screams of terror filled the air as the company clung onto whatever they could to keep from flying off.

In just a few seconds, the bridge reached a narrow gap between the two halves of the cavern. The gap was large enough for the bridge to fit through, yet small enough that the rock walls managed to slow it enough that, when it hit the ground, it wasn’t with too much of a jolt. However, its supports, having been badly weakened in the fall, gave out and sandwiched the dwarves between its layers.

Squirming her way out of the rubble, Baylee let out a squeak as she tumbled forward. Once again, luck had been on her side, for as she righted herself and looked up, she was in time to see the massive corpse of the Great Goblin come crashing down atop the bridge.

“You’ve _got_ t’ be joking!” Dwalin growled in a mixture of anger and pain.

Baylee sheathed her sword before hurrying forward to help Gandalf uncover the dwarves from the rubble. She looked around as she did so, watching as, one by one, the dwarves were extricated. Her brows furrowed; there was no sign of her father.

It was then she realized that she hadn’t actually seen _any_ sign of Bilbo since they had been in the cave.

“Gandalf!” Kili shouted, drawing her from her thoughts. She followed his gaze and felt the color drain from her face.

 _Thousands_ of goblins were rushing down towards them.

“There’s too many o’ them!” Dwalin cried. “We can’t fight them!”

“Only one thing will save us now,” Gandalf told them as he pulled Nori to his feet, “and that is daylight. Come on! On your feet!” He helped pull Bifur up and pointed in the direction they needed to run.

Turning, Baylee made to run with the others. Before she could take a step, however, someone lifted her up and over his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, lass!” Bofur told her, holding onto her with one arm as he ran. “Just hold on!”

Doing as she was told, Baylee gripped onto his jacket. As she looked in front of her, she could see Bifur, Bombur, Dori, and Ori taking up the rear of the group. She tried to look over her shoulder, but it was useless. If she turned one way, Bofur’s head blocked her vision and if she turned the other way, her blind eye kept her from seeing anything.

“Have you seen da’?” she questioned, her voice filled with worry.

“Was just goin’ t’ ask you that, lass,” Bofur replied in between breaths. “I’m sure he’s ‘round here somewhere!” Though he tried to sound optimistic, she could hear the worry in his voice.

A whimper left her mouth, but it went unheard in the chaos. ‘Yavanna, I know I’ve asked a lot of you today, but please— _please_ let my da’ be alright,’ she silently prayed, her eyes clenching shut. ‘And…and if any of the other Valar are listening, please…please don’t let us die like this.’ She swallowed hard as she felt hot tears begin to roll down her cheeks—or had they never stopped? She wasn’t sure.

For the first time since leaving, she regretted coming on this adventure.

A blast of fresh air suddenly hit her in the face and she gasped, her eyes opening wide. She blinked against the sudden daylight, seeing as the four dwarves ahead of her did the same. Looking around as best she could, she found that they were _finally_ outside the mountain. Where they were running to now, though, she was still clueless.

Soon enough, Bofur slowed his pace and, panting, he set Baylee down on the ground before resting his weight on his mattock. She found that they had come to a halt in the middle of a pine forest. All around her, the dwarves were gasping for breath; not a single member of the company was without some sort of injury. Even Dwalin, Thorin, and Fili—the best fighters in the group—had injuries that were still bleeding.

“Five, six, seven, eight…Bifur, Bofur, Baylee—that’s eleven,” Gandalf counted as he came to a halt in the middle of the group. Somehow, he was the only one in the group _not_ out of breath. “Fili, Kili. That’s thirteen.” He looked to his left as Bombur finally came to a half, collapsing onto his back. “And Bombur is fourteen.” A large frown came to the wizard’s face. “Where’s Bilbo?” he demanded. “Where is our burglar!?”

“Curse that halfling!” Dwalin snapped, his shoulders heaving from the effort of breathing. “Now he’s lost!?”

“I thought he was with Dori!” Gloin called out.

Dori looked at him angrily. “ _Don’t_ blame me!” he snapped.

“Where? Where did you last see him?” Gandalf questioned, leaning against his staff.

“I think I saw him slip away,” Nori said after a moment. “When they first collared us.”

Baylee felt her stomach drop and she bit her lower lip. A hand came to rest on her shoulder; once again, it was Bofur.

“What happened exactly?” Gandalf asked, sounding a bit rushed. “Tell me!”

Thorin stepped forward, his brows knitted together in anger and annoyance; there was a trail of blood leading down his face from a large cut on his cheek. “I’ll tell you what happened,” he snapped. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our burglar again. He is long gone.”

Though his words did anger her, Baylee couldn’t help but admit that some of them were true. Bilbo _had_ been constantly wishing that the two of them were back in Bag End. But…but surely, he wouldn’t just abandon them like that?

Surely, he wouldn’t abandoned _her_ like that?

“No, he isn’t long gone.”

Her eyes widened and she spun around, seeing Bilbo stepping out from behind a tree. She let out a cry of joy and rushed towards him. He caught her as she stumbled, holding her close to him.

“Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf grinned. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life!”

“Bilbo, we’d given you up!” Kili chirped, a broad smile on his lips.

“How on earth did you get past the goblins?!” Fili gawked.

“How indeed…” Dwalin murmured, his eyes narrowed in skepticism.

For a long moment, Bilbo was quiet, choosing to console his daughter as he tried to think of a way to explain his absence and reappearance. While part of him wanted to tell the truth—about how he had fallen into the depths of the mountains, how he had had a riddle contest with a strange creature that called himself ‘Gollum’, and how he had found a magic ring that let him become invisible—but something in the back of his mind told him that it would be best to keep that a secret.

A heavy sigh then left his mouth. “Look, I know you doubt me,” he began, “and I know you always have, despite becoming my friends. And you’re right—I do often dream of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden.” Kissing the top of Baylee’s head, a small smile came to his lips. “See, that’s where Baylee and I belong. That’s home. And…And that’s why I came back: Because you lot don’t have one—a home, that is. It was taken from you. But I will do my best to help you take it back if I can.”

Silence fell over the group, punctured only by the occasional sniffle from Baylee or groan of pain from someone else. As he looked at each dwarf in turn, Bilbo came to realize that, despite his ordeal, the dwarves and his daughter had had an even more harrowing journey through the mountain than him. He was just about to suggest that they start tending to everyone’s injuries when they heard a howl echo down the mountain.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, eyes widening.

“Out of the frying pan,” Thorin growled.

“And into the fire,” Gandalf finished. “Run. Run!”

Still hurting from their escape through Goblin Town, the group started to half run, half stumble, their way down the mountain. While they ran, the sun was starting to quickly disappear behind the Misty Mountains, making the road ahead hard to see. It was because of this lack of light that the group suddenly came to realize that they had become cornered on a wide, pine-covered outcropping. The only way off was either backtracking or jumping off the edge of the cliff to their deaths.

“Up into the trees, all of you!” Gandalf ordered. “Come on, climb!” He rushed towards the furthest and tallest tree.

As Baylee ran, she looked up, trying to find a tree with branches low enough for her to reach. But even the lowest branches were far too high up for her to reach. Around her, the dwarves were helping each other up into the trees, but none of them seemed to take notice of her—at least, that’s what she thought.

“Baylee!” Fili called from the furthest tree. “Over here!” He crouched down, his fingers clasped together.

She ran towards him and jumped, hoping she judged the distance correctly. Her answer came when her foot landed in his hands and he suddenly thrust her upwards. A pair of hands caught her, pulling her onto the branch; it was Kili.

“You alright?” he asked, breathing heavily.

Shaking her head, she looked up at him. “No, but who of us is right now?” she managed to say with a small laugh. She tried to swallow, but she found her mouth and throat dry.

Fili soon joined them, as well as Dori and Ori—and just in time. On the ground below was a pack of wargs. They circled the bases of the trees, hoping that a dwarf or hobbit would slip and fall into their jaws. They soon backed off and stood still, however, as a pale orc on a white warg came riding towards them.

He brought the warg to a halt atop a large boulder. Behind him were more riders, all of them wearing wicked grins as they looked at the trapped company. The pale orc began to speak in a language most of them didn’t understand.

“Is…is that Azog?” Baylee whispered, her eyes widening.

“…I…I think that is,” Fili replied. As she glanced at him, she saw that his eyes were wide as well.

“I thought he was supposed to be dead?!” Kili gawked. “Uncle killed him! At the Battle of Azanulbizar!”

Azog belted out an order and the rider-less wargs charged forward. They started jumping and biting at the trees in futile attempts to climb them. But, being smart, they soon realized that, while they couldn’t climb the tall pines, they _could_ still bring them down. The ground was too rocky for the roots to dig very far, making it easy for three or four wargs to start pushing one of the trees over. As it tipped over, more wargs were able to grab the lowest branches, pulling it down even faster.

Baylee watched in horror as the dwarves and her father were forced to jump out of the tree and into the next. But with the sudden addition of their weight, that tree began to fall as well. The same happened with the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh trees until everyone was left in the tall pine on the very edge of the cliff. Everyone was more than a little thankful to find that this tree’s roots seemed to be stronger than the rest.

Out of nowhere, a flaming missile hit the ground and, rolling, caught the dry grass on fire. The wargs, startled by this sudden fire, backed up in fear.

“Fili!”

The prince looked up just in time to catch a large pinecone that Gandalf had set alight. Their eyes wide, Baylee and Kili grabbed pinecones of their own. They used Fili’s to get theirs lit, lightly blowing on them to ensure the flames caught well. Then, before their hands could be burnt, they threw the pinecones down at the wargs.

Patches of fire soon littered the ground, keeping the wargs at bay—for now. Someone even managed to hit one of the closer wargs with a pinecone and the creature’s fur burst into flames. The group cheered victoriously as they found themselves in less danger.

Then, the tree groaned.

Their cheers turned to cries of fear as the tree gave a shudder and began to tip backwards, out over the sheer drop. Luckily, it didn’t fall entirely—but it now stuck straight out, leaving them level with the ground. Almost everyone made the mistake of looking down.

The nearest bit of ground was over half a mile away, straight down.

There was a cry as Ori lost his grip on the tree. He started to fall, but was able to grab onto Dori’s leg. Even though he was the strongest member of the company, Dori struggled to continue holding onto his branch. His grip finally failed and he cried out in terror. Gandalf thrust out his staff, letting Dori snatch it; he grunted, finding himself now struggling to stay in the tree.

Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning, she watched as Thorin pulled himself up onto the tree trunk. His gaze was fixed on Azog and, as he walked, he drew his sword. From her branch, she could see that he was slipping his left arm into his oaken shield.

“What’re you doing?” Balin shouted. “Thorin!”

But Thorin didn’t hear him. He reached the bottom of the tree and, his sword glowing brightly as he raised it, started to charge forward. Azog started to laugh as his warg crouched down. Seeing the warg spring forward, Thorin braced himself and swung his sword forward, intending to hit the creature.

Instead, the warg slammed its forepaws into his chest, knocking him to the ground. For half a moment, he lay there, stunned by the blow. But as he smelled the smoke and felt the heat of the flames around him, Thorin was brought out of his stupor. He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. Before he could even lift his sword, though, Azog was riding back towards him. He swung his mace, grinning as it slammed into the dwarf and sent him flying backwards.

Baylee’s body started to move of its own accord. She pulled herself up onto the tree’s trunk as the white warg grabbed Thorin in its jaws. As it violently shook him, she drew her sword and started to walk forward, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Looking up, she found Bilbo standing beside her, his own sword drawn.

“We’re doing this together,” he told her.

She nodded, a small smile on her lips.

The two hobbits began to run forward as one of the orcs jumped off its warg. With the smoke obscuring them from sight, Bilbo and Baylee were able to remain unseen as they hurried towards the injured Thorin. They watched the orc approached Thorin, drawing its sword when it was just a couple of feet from him.

The orc raised its sword and swung downwards. There was a loud, metallic clang as its blade didn’t meet flesh, but another blade. Its brows furrowed and it looked down, surprised to find Baylee practically on her knees, her glowing sword raised above her head. One hand gripped the handle while the other pressed upwards on the flat of the blade, pushing back against the orc.

But before the orc could question where she had come from, Bilbo slammed into it from the side, knocking them both to the ground. They struggled against one another for a few seconds before Bilbo was able to shove his sword into the creature’s gut. A dying gurgle left its mouth as Baylee rushed over, plunging her blade into its chest and giving it a good twist.

Father and daughter drew their swords from the orc and adopted defensive stances as they stood in front of the unconscious Thorin. Azog, more than a little angry at the audacity of these two, shouted out an order that needed no translation: _Kill them._

The hobbits watched a pair of warg riders started to stalk towards them. Bilbo swung his sword awkwardly, trying to intimidate the riders, but to no avail. In fact, they ended up laughing at the sight.

Out of nowhere, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin cried out as they slammed their bodies into the pair of riders. With both orc and warg now on the ground, they brought their weapons down on their skulls or across their throats. Baylee yelled and bolted forward, bringing her blade across the throat of a warg that had been going for Dwalin. As it crumpled to the ground, its rider was flung forward, but it rolled and was able to quickly get back to its feet.

Even when hunched over, the orc towered over her. Sneering down at the hobbit, it drew a pair of swords and started to swing at her. She was able to block a few of the blows and even parried one. But just as she got ready to block another attack, she stumbled over a rock that she had thought was further away. She fell forward, landing on her stomach. The orc, however, ended up stumbling over her in turn and also fell on its face. Rolling onto her back, Baylee flung herself forward, driving her sword into the orc’s neck.

She cried out as a rider snatched her by her hair and hoisted her into the air. It turned her around, wanting to get a better look at her before it would kill her and feed her to its warg. Growling, she slammed her foot into its face, making it release her in shock. As she fell, she thrust her sword forward, feeling it sink into some sort of flesh and get dragged down by her bodyweight.

Baylee landed on her back with a small yelp of pain; hitting the hard rock only helped to remind her of all her other aches and pains. She watched as the warg—who had been the one injured by her blade—retreated. But two more soon came to take its place. The creatures snarled down at her, hungry looks in their faces.

There was a piercing cry and a massive pair of talons snatched the wargs up only to fling them over the edge of the precipice.

Confused, Baylee glanced skyward and felt her jaw go slack. High above them, giant eagles were circling the area. Four or five swooped down, starting to attack the wargs and riders while others started to pluck the dwarves out of the tree. Rolling over and pushing herself to her knees, she looked up in time to see one eagle land beside Thorin. With a surprising amount of care, it scooped him and his sword up in its talons before taking off.

As it flew into the air, she watched as Thorin’s oaken shield slipped off his arm and landed with a clatter on the ground. Biting her lower lip, Baylee scrambled to her feet and, after sheathing her sword, she darted over. She grabbed the shield; not wanting to drop it, she slid it over her arm, knowing full well that it looked ridiculous on her small frame.

It had been a good idea, however, as no more than a minute later, she yelped when one of the eagles grabbed her in its talons. It flew her out over the edge of the cliff and dropped her, making her shriek in terror. Her fall was a short one and, in just a few seconds, she found herself sitting atop the back of a different eagle. Bilbo was already there, looking just as shellshocked as she felt.

“D-Da’?” she stammered.

“D-Don’t look down, dear,” he stuttered. He had just made the mistake of peering over the side of the eagle. “Don’t—Don’t look down.”

She nodded slowly, not wanting to tell him that she already knew how far away the ground was thanks to looking down while in the tree. Regardless, she did as he said and chose to instead scoot closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her, his eyes clenching shut as he swallowed hard.

As they sat in silence, their adrenaline began to fade and all of their injuries started to make themselves known. Bilbo’s back, shoulder, and knees hurt from his fall into the chasm, and his arms ached from having to use his sword so much. Baylee’s entire body hurt, but what hurt the most were the claw marks in her ankle and her rope-burnt palms.

“Are you hurt?” he asked after some minutes.

“Yes. But nothing nearly as bad as my eye, I promise.” She felt him lean back and she looked up at him only to watch him cringe.

“Wh-what’s all this black stuff on your face?” he asked. Licking his thumb, he started trying to remove it.

She scrunched her nose up. “It’s…it’s goblin blood, da’,” she told him before he could lick his thumb again. “I—I killed a lot of goblins down there. I don’t—I don’t really know how many.” Taking the opportunity, she looked around. There were eagles all around them, each one bearing one or two dwarves. As she twisted around to look ahead of them, she could see the eagle carrying Thorin.

He was unconscious and unmoving as the great bird held him in its talons.

“Goblins are wretched creatures and they were trying to kill you,” Bilbo told her, his voice shaking somewhat from the adrenaline crash. “You did what you had to in order to survive. And…And I’m proud of you.” He gently turned her chin so she could see the fatherly smile on his lips. “All this time, I’ve been worried that you weren’t strong enough to be part of this journey. That I was going to lose you because you couldn’t protect yourself or because I couldn’t protect you. I’m so glad to learn just how wrong I was.”

A small smile came to her lips as her jaw started to wobble. “R-really?”

He nodded only to let out a soft laugh as she clung onto him. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, gently rubbing her back. “My brave, strong Baylee…You’re just like your grandmother—you know, before she settled down. I’m sure she’s watching us from the Halls of Mandos, getting a kick out of us stumbling our way through this quest.”

“I think she’s yelling at us,” she murmured, her eyes closing as she rested her head against Bilbo’s shoulder. “The adventures she went on weren’t like this. They were just journeys to Bree or Lake Evendim…I doubt she had to fight orcs and goblins and wargs.” She didn’t bother covering her mouth as she yawned.

Bilbo let out a small sigh, allowing his eyes to close, too. “Your grandmother was an amazing woman, Baylee. There’s a reason Gandalf thought I had inherited her adventurous spirit, which leaves me with little doubt that she did, at one point, have to fight some foul creature.” Tilting his head down, he kissed her forehead. “He wasn’t wrong, though…I did inherit her adventurous spirit, although I only recently discovered it. But you…you most definitely inherited it.”

She quietly laughed, though she said nothing. While part of her was happy to hear that he was finally enjoying the adventure, another part of her felt guilty that she was beginning to dislike it. ‘If that’s what fighting orcs and goblins and wargs is like,’ she told herself, ‘then I don’t want to know what fighting a dragon will be like…’

“Dear? Did you fall asleep?”

“No,” she murmured. “I’m just thinking.”

He cocked his head, curious. “About…?”

Not wanting to admit that her feelings about the journey were changing, she instead told him, “Thorin. I…I’m worried about him.” Her words weren’t a lie, at least. “Azog hit him hard enough to send him flying through the air—and you know how heavy dwarves are. That kind of blow had to have wrecked _some_ sort of damage to his body.”

As she spoke, the more she realized that she felt more than just worried about Thorin: She felt scared for him. What if he was dead? Or, what if he had an injury that would prevent him from continuing the journey? He was their leader, their king, their _friend_.

This quest would be _nothing_ without him there.

“I’m worried, too,” Bilbo sighed in agreement. “I’m worried about all of you. I saw the injuries you lot sustained…I don’t think Oin has enough healing supplies to treat them all.” His brows furrowed as he heard a quiet sniffle and, looking down, he found Baylee clutching onto his vest. “Baylee…?”

“I-I’m sorry,” she choked out. “It’s just—it’s just all hitting me now.” That, too, was not a lie; the adrenaline had completely left her body by this point, leaving her a quivering mess.

He nodded slowly and started to comfortingly stroke the back of her head. “Cry as much as you need, dear,” he said. Swallowing hard, he fought past his fear of heights and glanced around at the other eagles.

Somewhat above them, Dori, Nori, and Ori were all gathered on one eagle; the brothers were clinging onto one another for dear life. On the opposite side, Bofur was trying to pull Bifur back down as he _stood_ atop the eagle, flapping his arms. Fili and Kili were ahead of them, also hugging one another as they tried shouting out to their uncle. He didn’t see what the others were doing, as their eagles were flying below and he dared not look down.

After some minutes, he peeked down at Baylee only to find that she had cried herself to sleep. A quiet sigh left his mouth and he found himself wondering how much longer it would be until they would be on the ground once more. Feeling sleep beginning to overtake him as well, he fought to stay awake—he didn’t want to fall asleep only to tip over and slide off the eagle’s back. But, soon, his head tipped forward and his chin came to rest atop Baylee’s head as he, too, fell asleep.

* * *

A piercing cry awoke the two hobbits from their slumber. Their eyes widened in surprise; the sun was beginning to rise over the eastern horizon.

“How long have we been asleep?” Baylee mumbled. She winced as she sat upright; her body felt as stiff as a board and her muscles ached as she moved.

“A fair few hours by the looks of it,” Bilbo replied. He let out a quiet hiss of pain as he stretched and his hand gripped his shoulder. “Nothing like falling into a chasm to remind you that you’re getting old,” he mumbled.

Her brows furrowing, she looked up at him in horror. “You _fell_ into a _chasm_?”

He gave her an apologetic smile. “It’s a long story, dear…I’ll explain it to you when we’re _not_ on an eagle’s back, alright?” Glancing past her, he saw that they were flying towards an enormous pillar of rock. As they got closer, he could see that the top of the rock had been carved to look like a massive bear’s head. “I think we’re finally going to land.”

“Good…we’ll be able to find out how everyone else is doing,” Baylee said, tiredly rubbing her eye.

It was then Bilbo finally took notice of something. “Dear…wh-when did you get ahold of that?” he questioned, pointing at the oaken shield.

Her cheeks turned a bit red as she looked at her arm; her adrenaline crash and all the pain and emotions it had brought with it had made her completely forget she was wearing the shield. “It…it fell off Thorin’s arm when the eagle grabbed him,” she explained after taking a moment to remember. “I didn’t think it’d be right to leave it behind…It is his namesake, after all.”

“Always the thoughtful one, aren’t you?” He smiled as he gently patted her shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it when he wakes up.”

‘ _If_ he wakes up,’ she thought.

Within a quarter of an hour, their eagle had landed on the stone pillar. It held its wing out, allowing the two hobbits to slided down it in order to reach the ground. Before either of them could thank the eagle, though, it took off to the air once more.

“Bilbo! Baylee!”

They turned around in unison to find Bofur sprinting over to them. Upon reaching them, he threw one arm around Bilbo and the other around Baylee, pulling them against him in a tight hug.

“Oh, thank Mahal you’re alright!” he cried. “I was so worried about the two o’ you—neither o’ you were answering me when I was shoutin’ at you up there. I was startin’ to think your injuries had claimed you!”

Bilbo let out a small laugh, his cheeks flushing red as he returned the hug. “Neither of us is _that_ hurt, Bofur,” he assured him. “At least, if Baylee was telling me the truth, neither of us is. We just fell asleep is all. I’m sorry if we scared you, though. I promise we didn’t mean to.” Part of him wished Bofur wasn’t hugging onto them so tight, as it made his shoulder and back ache. The rest of him, however, rather welcomed the embrace.

Bofur leaned back to look at them, his hands still on their shoulders; the two hobbits saw he wore a relieved smile. “Aye, I know you didn’t,” he said. His relief faded somewhat as he saw the cuts and bruises along Bilbo’s face and hands. It disappeared entirely when he saw Baylee’s injuries and the large rips in her dress. A sigh left his mouth and he lightly shook his head. “We need t’ get the two o’ you cleaned and bandaged up. You both did a lot o’ fighting back there an’ it shows.” Though there was still concern on his face, a small smile had returned to his lips.

“We’ll be fine,” Bilbo assured him, his cheeks still red. “I’m sure the others are worse off than us.”

“Hmm…Maybe worse off than _you_ , but lookin’ at your wee lass here…” He let out an almost fatherly sigh. “Trouble really likes t’ tag along with you, doesn’t it? Ah, well, better some scratches an’ a torn dress than becomin’ a pincushion for goblins an’ orcs.”

A small smile came to her lips and she felt her cheeks turn a bit red as he gently patted her shoulder; she couldn’t help but notice that, while he was still holding onto them both, he held Bilbo closer to him. “I’ll be fine. I just need to wash all this goblin blood off me and out of my dress.”

Then, her brows furrowed somewhat and she leaned to the side; the last eagle had finally arrived. Her eyes widened and she bit her lower lip, watching as it took the utmost care when laying Thorin down on the ground. Relieved of its burden it, like the others, took off to the skies once more. Seeing her worried expression, Bofur turned and his eyes, too, widened. Wordlessly, the three of them rushed over to the unconscious king.

By the time they reached him, Fili and Kili were already kneeling on either side of him, their skin pale with worry. Gandalf before Thorin’s head; he held his hand over the king’s eyes, whispering softly. At first, Baylee feared the worst had happened, but when Thorin took in a sharp breath, relief washed over her.

“The halflings?” she heard him murmured.

“It’s alright. The Bagginses are here—they’re quite safe,” Gandalf gently assured him. He then frowned, backing off slightly as Thorin started to sit up.

With some difficulty, Fili and Kili helped their uncle to his feet. He wobbled slightly, but as he spotted the hobbits, he shrugged them off. “You!” he snapped, started to walk towards the pair. “What were you doing?! You nearly got yourselves _killed_!”

Bilbo stared at him in shock and Baylee shrank back slightly; neither had expected him to be upset with them.

“Did I not say you were better off as a grocer and his pet mouse?” he continued, coming ever closer to them. “That it would be a miracle if either of you could learn to use a weapon?” He came to a halt barely a foot away from them, towering over them.

His expression abruptly changed. “I have never been so wrong in all my life.” With a surprising amount of ease, he scooped up the two hobbits and held them against him in a hug that was even bigger than Bofur’s.

Her cheeks flushing—and, for some reason, her stomach beginning to flutter—Baylee smiled and returned the hug, though she could only use one arm to do such. Bilbo, too, returned the embrace, a relieved laugh leaving his mouth. Around them, the other dwarves began to cheer, both because their king was alive and because they were all safe.

Unconsciously, Thorin gave Baylee an extra little squeeze. “I am sorry I doubted either of you,” he said, finally setting them both back on the ground. “Bilbo, especially. I’m glad to have been proven so wrong.”

“No, no—I would have doubted me, too,” Bilbo told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

“We’re not heroes or warriors,” Baylee added with a small chuckle. She felt disappointed that the hug had ended, but couldn’t figure out why. “Da’s not even much of a burglar.”

Thorin smiled down at them, but it faltered slightly when he noticed something in the distance behind them. His eyes widened and he gently pushed past the two hobbits, who turned to watch him in confusion. But then, they saw it:

Rising above a sea of trees was a single, lonely mountain.

“Is that—Is that what I think it is?” Bilbo stammered, his eyes widening.

“Erebor,” Baylee breathed, a look of shock on her face as well.

“The Lonely Mountain,” Gandalf answered with a small nod. “The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

A small, reminiscent smile came to Thorin’s lips as he stared at the mountain. A single tear went unnoticed as it rolled down his cheek. “Our home,” he whispered.

It was then a small songbird flew by, singing its song to the morning sun; Oin’s arm rose up as he pointed at it.

“A raven!” he cried. “The birds are returning t’ the mountain!”

Shaking his head, Gandalf quietly laughed. “That, my dear Oin, is a _thrush._ ”

Thorin’s smile grew a bit and he lightly patted the hobbits on the shoulder. “But we’ll take it as a sign—a good omen.”

“You’re right,” Bilbo smiled, feeling quite chuffed to be alive and well. He also longed to keep moving, to continue on with their journey. “I do believe the worst is behind us.”

Baylee wore a smile as she looked at the mountain in the distance, though she remained silent. While she hoped and prayed the feeling in her gut was wrong, something was telling her that the worst was yet to come.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers~! I just wanted to say thank you for all your lovely comments. Even if I don't respond to them, I do read all of them and I've got them saved so I can read them when I'm offline and need a little morale boost. ❤️ 
> 
> I also want to let you guys know that, sometime next month, I'll be posting a new fanfiction! It'll be for Pirates of the Caribbean and it's going to be quite different from my two Hobbit fics in that it's going to be a first-person POV. So if you like PotC and are interested, keep an eye out for it~

Exhausted, filthy, and aching, the group had made camp at the base of the pillar of rock—which Gandalf had told them was called ‘the Carrock’. They had voted to stay the day and night there, seeking shelter inside the tunnel that wound its way up to the top. The spot they were in was located in the spit of land between a river’s fork, offering them some protection from any possible enemy attacks.

A shiver ran through Baylee’s body and she let out a squeak of surprise as she stepped into one of the rivers; though she had anticipated on it being cold, she hadn’t expected it to be _this_ cold. Not wanting to stay in too long, she found a flat rock to sit on and started to wash herself. She didn’t like seeing how red the water turned when she started to wash the blood from her ankle and from her arm, nor did she like how much both stung.

‘I suppose it’ll be even worse once I wash my dress,’ she thought. Glancing over her shoulder at the shore, she frowned at the garment. Just two days ago, it had been a nice, buttery yellow in color. Now, however, it had large splotches of black on it from the goblins as well as smaller patches of blackish-brown from her slide down the rock wall. There were even a few red splotches from her own blood. The skirt had a large tear out of the back of it and the hem was frayed in many spots. ‘I don’t want to go around smelling like stale goblin blood, so I have no choice but to wash it. But that means walking around in my underthings while it dries…’

Shaking her head, she let out a heavy sigh and continued to wash herself. Once she had all the dirt and blood off her skin, she debated on dunking her head in the water to wash her hair. She had almost decided against it until she pulled one of the braids over her shoulder and found that the ash-brown locks also had bits of orc blood on them.

By the time she walked out of the water, she was shivering and her teeth were chattering from the cold. She wrung out her hair before pulling on her bloomers and her shirt. Looking up, she found the sun to be still fairly low in the sky, denoting it to be only midmorning. ‘Back home, I’d be making da’ and me some second breakfast about now,’ she thought, pulling her stays on over her head. She was glad to find that it, at least, was still in good shape. ‘Then in a couple of hours, I’d visit the market and pick us up some odds and ends. Maybe some goodies from the bakery or visit Halfast for some meat for dinner…’

As she tightened the laces of her corset and tied them into place, she felt her stomach drop at the thought of Halfast. ‘I know he wanted to hear about my adventures,’ she said to herself, ‘but will he still want to hear about them once he sees how scarred I’ve become? Once he sees that I’m not the same lass who left Hobbiton back in spring…?’ Biting her lower lip, she grabbed her dress and walked back to the river’s edge.

She knelt on a rock and looked into the water; though it was moving, its surface was fairly still, allowing her to see her reflection. “No hobbit lad in their right mind would ever want to court me now that I have these,” she sighed, her fingers brushing against the scar on her face.

This was her first time seeing the injury since it had fully healed. To her, it didn’t look any less bad than it did when the wound was fresh. It was unevenly discolored and, thanks to the way her eyelid had been injured, the eye could no longer open all the way. The eye itself was eerie to look at, being just a milky, light green halo floating in a sea of white.

“I’d be lucky if any lads even looked my way,” she murmured, “let alone one as handsome as Halfast.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek. After quickly wiping it away, she let out a heavy sigh and dunked her dress into the water.

When she was finished washing her dress—or, at least, trying to wash it, as it was a difficult task to do without any soap—Baylee pulled her petticoats on over her bloomers. As she tied them into place, she started to pace back and forth in an effort to warm up. Though she had earlier decided to just return to camp in her underthings, she was beginning to have second thoughts.

Primrose’s voice filled her mind. _“Baylee Baggins, don’t you dare! A proper hobbit lass would never do such an outrageous thing!”_

‘But am I _really_ a ‘proper’ lass anymore?’ she asked herself. ‘Proper lasses don’t go on adventures, nor do they take up sword fighting or go about killing goblins…’

She wrung her dress out one more time and started to walk back to camp. Her pace was quick and she badly wanted to hug herself or rub her arms in an effort to warm up more. But both actions were near impossible since she was carrying her dress.

“After bathing in that cold water, the lads are _definitely_ going to feel far more awake than they did half an hour ago,” she murmured. While she was normally the last one to bathe, this time, the lads had offered to let her bathe first so that they could get a fire going and, possibly, track down some food.

Coming around a large set of boulders, she could see the spot where the company had made camp, but she couldn’t see any dwarves. Her brows furrowing, she continued to walk, though she now glanced about, trying to see if—maybe—they had been ambushed while she was gone. But, surely, she would have heard _some_ sort of commotion? She hadn’t been _too_ far from camp, after all.

Drawing nearer, she could see that there was a fire going, though there was no food to be seen. She also spotted piles of clothes lying about on the ground, telling her that the lads had, most likely, run off to bathe in a different spot. This was a bit of a relief for her, as it meant she could look for Bilbo’s jacket and wear it until her dress dried.

And it was then she remembered that her father never left his clothes at camp—he always undressed _at_ the river.

“Oh, bollocks,” she mumbled. Seeing Bofur’s pile of clothes nearby—save for his hat, oddly enough—she momentarily thought about stealing his jacket and wearing it. “No, no, that’d be rude…” Teeth still chattering, she carried her dress over to a large rock and spread it out over the surface so that the sun could dry it.

Once she had her dress laid out, she hurried back to the fire and sat down as close as she could without burning herself. The fire was small, being only large enough to rest a small cooking pot over, but it was better than nothing. She closed her eyes and sighed in relief; though she still shivered thanks to her damp hair, the front of her body was getting warm.

“Mouse-Lass?”

She squeaked and looked up in surprise to find Thorin stepping out of the cave. “Th-Tho—Oakenshield!” she stammered. “I th-thought you had been off bathing with the others.”

His brow rose as he saw her huddled up next to the fire. “I’ll bathe later,” he told her. “Someone had to watch the fire and wait for you to come back.” Realizing that she wasn’t wearing her dress, he frowned. “Why are you in just your underclothes?”

Biting her lower lip, she felt her cheeks grow warm and she quickly looked back into the fire. “I-I had to wash my dress,” she explained. “It was covered in goblin and orc blood.”

“As well as your own.” Shrugging off his overcoat, he lightly shook his head and chuckled. “Here. This will keep you warmer than that small fire,” he told her, setting the garment partially on the ground.

Her cheeks still red, Baylee nodded and scooted back until she felt her hands come into contact with the leather. She wasn’t going to argue against such a gesture when she was as cold as she was. A small gasp of surprise left her mouth as Thorin draped the rest of it over her body; it was _much_ heavier than she was expecting. But, as he had said, it was warmer than the fire and she gladly pulled it around herself. Part of her was surprised by how soft the fur lining its outer edges was.

An amused smile came to the king’s lips as he watched her. She had practically been swallowed up by the overcoat; only her head remained visible. Even then, her hair somewhat blended in with the fur surrounding her. “Is that better?” he asked, moving to sit down beside her.

“Very much so,” she replied, a grateful smile on her lips. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, turning to watch the flames as they danced about. “It’s me who should be thanking _you_ …What you did last night—what you _and_ your father did—was nothing short of heroic, regardless of what you both say.”

“We couldn’t just let you die like that.” There was a small frown on her lips as the scene from last night started to play out in her mind. “You’re our friend…and the leader of this quest. Without you, we’d just be a—be a—uh—a gaggle of guideless geese.” She smiled as Thorin let out a hearty laugh.

“I hate to say it, Mouse-Lass, but you’re right about that,” he agreed. He looked at her, the amusement remaining on his face. “I also need to thank you for grabbing my shield. I fear it would have remained on that cliff until the end of time if you hadn’t grabbed it.”

“It’s important to you. I’d like to think that, if I dropped something important to me, someone would make sure to retrieve it…” A small sigh then left her mouth and she closed her eyes, trying to comb her hair with her fingers. “As it turns out, though, the only important thing I have left at the moment happens to be drying over on that rock.”

“You also have your sword,” he reminded her. He watched her nose scrunch up as she struggled to get her fingers through a particularly stubborn knot. “Which, by the way, you wielded quite well for that being your first real fight.”

“I don’t think I did very well,” she murmured. “It was hard to keep up with the goblins—especially when there was more than one. My only saving grace was that I was so much smaller than them, I could get some of them before they even saw me.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “You wielded your sword well enough that you came out of that mess with minimal injuries. That’s a far cry from when Fili first started to teach you.”

A shy smile came to her lips and a bit of color returned to her cheeks. “That is true.” She flinched slightly as she tugged her fingers through another persistent knot.

“Would you like some help, Mouse-Lass?”

Her face got a bit warmer. “…Some help would be lovely, thank you,” she admitted. Hearing Thorin shift around, she soon felt him gather up her hair and pull it out from under the overcoat.

From under his tunic, he drew out a comb much like Bofur’s. He started working from the ends of her hair, as it would be less painful and would get the knots out quicker. What didn’t help much was that her hair was still damp; if her hair had been dry, the strands would have been easier to coax free of one another.

“Do hobbits have any traditions or taboos involving hair like us dwarves?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“There aren’t any taboos that I’m aware of, but if I recall, some parts of the Shire have the tradition of married women wearing their hair in a bun while unmarried lasses have their hair either braided or loose.” She opened her eyes, her gaze falling to the dancing flames of the fire. “In Hobbiton, us unmarried lasses tend to wear bright, colorful ribbons in our hair while those who are married wear more muted colors.”

Though he knew she couldn’t see it, he nodded in understanding. “And what of the male hobbits? Do they have any sort of traditions?”

“Not really. Married or not, men tend to keep their hair about ear-length. Some have shoulder-length hair, though that tends to be a trend more for the older generations.” She winced slightly as Thorin accidentally tugged a bit of hair.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly told her, frowning as he saw her flinch.

“It’s alright,” she assured him. Then, with a soft chuckle, she added, “By now, da’ would have made me wince four or five times.”

He shook his head. “You should return the favor if ever you comb his hair.”

A laugh left her mouth and her brow rose. “That would just earn me an ear flick, so I don’t think I will.” Keeping her head still, she looked away from the fire, taking in the appearance of the area instead.

“It’s a good thing he’s not a dwarf, then.”

“Oh?”

“When a dwarf tugs that much at another dwarf’s hair, it shows that they’re careless or don’t have much regard for the person whose hair they’re doing.” Getting the ends of her hair untangled, he started to work on the knots higher up. “There are even some dwarven parents who test their child’s betrothed by having them do their hair. If they tug more than four times, they know not to allow the marriage.”

“That’s…actually a really clever thing to do,” she chuckled.

He nodded in agreement. “Aye, it is…It’s how my grandfather tested my mother, actually.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Understandably, my family has to be a bit picky when it comes to finding spouses, given that they may end up on the throne or give birth to the royal heirs.”

“That makes sense…Were there other tests your mother had to go through?”

“To be honest, I can’t remember. But I do know that my late brother-in-law had to prove that he was strong enough to defend my sister should the need ever arise. Though…That test was set by me.” He quietly chuckled at the memory. “By that point, she and I had been living in Ered Luin for a few decades.”

She somewhat nodded in understanding, not wanting to move her head too much. “What was the challenge you gave him?”

“He had to spar against me…and then Dwalin.”

“Ooh…Yes, I can easily see how that would be a good way to test someone,” she softly laughed. “I take it he beat the challenge, though, given that Fili and Kili are around?”

“Actually, he didn’t. But the fact that he accepted the challenge and fought as hard as he could proved himself worthy of my sister’s hand.” He smiled, remembering how happy Dis had been on her wedding day. He hoped that she would, one day, be that happy when they returned to their home in Erebor.

A small smile came to Baylee’s lips. “I would hope. Going against either you or Dwalin would be scary enough. But having to go against _both_ of you?”

“Then consider yourself lucky that you’ll never have a need to fight against either of us, Mouse-Lass,” he replied, humor in his voice. With her hair now tangle-free, he started to separate it into sections.

She laughed, though her brow rose when felt him sectioning off her hair. She had been under the assumption that he was just going to comb her hair; not comb _and_ braid it… “I consider myself _enormously_ lucky that that’s the case.”

Taking one of the sections of hair, he further split it into three locks before beginning to braid it. “Other than finding the perfect ring and having to occasionally do a nearly-impossible task, I take it hobbits don’t have any sort of challenges they give their children’s potential spouses?”

“Not really, no. But da’ used to say that he’d make my future husband go to each farthing and, from each, collect the biggest acorn, the smallest walnut, and the most perfect chestnut he could find.”

His brows rose in surprise. “That…sounds quite difficult. Given how many of each tree the Shire has.”

“It really would be, especially since the South Farthing has chestnut orchards and the North Farthing has walnut orchards.”

“Has he ever given that challenge to someone?”

“Oh, heavens no,” she chuckled, though her cheeks darkened a bit. Biting her lower lip, she looked back down at the fire. “There’s only ever been one lad who’s been genuinely interested in me and vice versa, but…” Her voice drifted off.

“But…? Does Bilbo not approve of him?” His brows furrowed slightly; for some reason, he didn’t like the thought of there being a lad back in the Shire who fancied her.

She started to fiddle with the topmost layer of her petticoat. “It’s not that; da’ actually thinks the two of us would be a good match. But…I’m not so sure he’s still going to want to pursue anything once I return to the Shire.” Her stomach twisted slightly; it was strange, discussing her love life (or rather, lack of one) with Thorin, but, oddly, not the embarrassing sort of strange.

‘I feel almost guilty about telling him about Halfast,’ she thought, her brows furrowing slightly. ‘But…why? It’s not as if I’m courting Thorin—we’re just friends.’

“Why do you think he won’t want to pursue anything?” he asked, starting on a second braid.

Shrugging, she let out a small sigh. “I’m…not exactly the type of lass a respectable hobbit like him would want to court. At least, not anymore.”

“Why? Because you’ve fought goblins and orcs?”

“Well…that’s part of it,” she admitted. “But there’s also the fact that I’ve got large, visible scars now—and I’m bound to get more as our journey continues.” For some reason, while she hadn’t felt comfortable admitting such a thing to Bilbo and Bofur, she felt quite at ease confessing it to Thorin.

“And hobbits have little love for the appearance of scars,” he stated, remembering their conversation back in Rivendell.

“Exactly.” She let out a heavy sigh. While part of her had a feeling that Halfast wasn’t the type of hobbit who would care about her scars, a larger part of her was already beginning to accept that there was an even stronger chance that he _was_ that type of hobbit.

Thorin shook his head. “If he’s going to base your worth solely on your appearance, then he is a fool. You’ve many wonderful qualities about you and the only one that can be determined in the slightest by those scars is your courage…or your sheer, dumb luck.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot at his words, but she laughed, also remembering the conversation in Rivendell. “I’ve heard the two can often be confused for one another,” she replied quietly.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I believe it was your courage that got you those scars,” he said, his voice also softer. “And while I know hobbits would frown upon them, if you were to walk into a dwarven city, they would be seen as marks of that courage. As a matter of fact, if you were a dwarf, there’s a chance that you would keep the scar when you get reborn, showing everyone that you had earned such a mark in a fierce battle during your first life.”

Her brow rose slightly. “First life? Do dwarves get to live more than once like elves…?”

At that, he frowned. “Do…hobbits not get reborn after they die?” He placed three braids over her shoulder so that they would be kept out of his way for now.

“As far as I know, we just go to the Halls of Mandos when we die.”

“Interesting…Then again, I suppose hobbits are children of Eru and not Mahal. It would make sense that their fates are different than ours.”

She turned her head slightly, trying to look at him. “So, then, dwarves _do_ get reborn? How often? And is it all dwarves?”

He quietly chuckled; he should have known this subject would have piqued her interest. “At the moment, very few dwarves get to be reborn—it all depends on when Mahal deems it appropriate for us to return. As far as I know, there has only been one dwarf who has been reborn multiple times, though the time of his rebirth is never known. That dwarf happens to be Durin, the very first of the dwarves to awaken and one of my ancestors.”

“He’s the one you were singing the song about back in Rivendell.”

A smile came to his lips. “You’ve a good memory, Mouse-Lass. Yes, that would be him.” He placed another set of braids over her opposite shoulder.

She shifted slightly, stretching her legs out; she didn’t mind when they poked out from the overcoat due to them being closer to the fire. “But why is he the only one who gets reborn so often? Surely other dwarves have been reborn more than once?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer as to why Durin is the one who gets reborn multiple times. But I can say that most—if not all—dwarves will get to be reborn at least twice. Once before Dagor Dagorath and then once more after Dagor Dagorath—perhaps even more after that time.”

Her brows furrowed. “…What’s Dagor Dagorath?”

“The end of the world.” He wasn’t terribly surprised to hear that she didn’t know what Dagor Dagorath was; with how much hobbits loved peace, knowledge of such a destructive event would be hidden away and forgotten. “When Morgoth escapes his prison and musters all evil to him before launching an all-out war on the Valar and those who dwell in Valinor.”

Baylee scrunched her nose up slightly. “I don’t like the sound of that,” she murmured.

He quietly laughed. “Then be glad you will be long gone before it takes place. After the battle, it will leave Middle Earth torn asunder and it will have to be remade. It’s then that we dwarves will be called forth by Mahal to help reshape and rebuild the world. And then, we’ll all gradually be reborn, just as Durin is.”

“That’s…really interesting. Do you know if any other races will be reborn? Or is it just dwarves?”

“I would imagine the elves get reborn as well, given how they were the First children of Eru.” He glanced up, giving the area a cursory look around to make sure all was still well. “As for humans and hobbits…Our texts don’t say anything about them, I’m afraid.”

A disappointed hum left her mouth. “That’s too bad. I don’t think there’s much information at all pertaining to what happens to us hobbits after we die. If there was, though, I would love to read it so I could find out if we get reborn as well.”

“Do you know _anything_ about what happens?”

She shook her head, able to feel multiple braids being moved around. “Just that we go to the Halls of Mandos, nothing more.”

“A pity…but, then again, it could be because hobbits are of Eru. Mahal created us dwarves, and so he shapes parts of our lives as well as our afterlives. He even crafted a special hall within Mandos for us dwarves to dwell in until the Time of Remaking.”

A small smile came to her lips. “That sounds nice…but also a bit lonely. What if there were people of other races you had become friends with? Would you be able to go see them in the main hall after they’ve passed on or do you have to stay within Mahal’s halls?”

“Now _that_ , I do not know,” he admitted. “I would like to think it was possible, though part of me also knows there are not many dwarves who would have a good enough friend in a non-dwarf that they would leave the halls.”

“Well…I hope those that do have good, non-dwarven friends are able to visit them,” she said, hearing another small laugh leave Thorin’s mouth. “I don’t know about you, but when I pass on, I’d like to be able to see my friends and family who’ve passed on before me, whether they’re a hobbit or not.”

“Do you even know any non-hobbits aside from us and Lord Elrond, Mouse-Lass?” he asked in amusement.

Her cheeks turned a bit red. “No, but that doesn’t matter. Because I’m sure, after this journey, I’m going to want to see some of you over there someday.”

His brow rose slightly; her words had made a small bit of warmth come to his chest—but why? He didn’t have long to think about it, however, as movement caught his attention and he glanced over top her head in time to see Bilbo, Fili, Bofur, and Dwalin coming towards them. “It looks like the others have finished bathing.”

She bit her lower lip; she had rather been enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and quiet conversation. And given that the dwarves had left their clothes behind, she had expected them to be naked. So, when she saw that they were wearing their long underwear, she felt rather relieved. “And it looks like I’m not the only one wandering around in my undergarments.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say you’re ‘wandering around’, Mouse-Lass,” he chuckled.

“I’ll have to wander around _eventually_ , Oakenshield,” she chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Even if I’m comfortable like this, I can’t just sit here all day.” Her smile faded, however, when she remembered that he was braiding her hair and what the others could easily mistake it for. “A-are you almost done, by the way?”

His brow rose at her sudden tone shift. “Why do you ask?”

“W-well…when the others see you braiding my hair, they might start wondering what your intentions are—da’ especially.”

His response was simple; though, it took even him by surprise and made Baylee’s stomach flutter a bit. “Then let them wonder.”


	16. Chapter 16

“How close do you think they are?”

“Hard to say…Maybe two leagues? Possibly three?”

“They look like they’re moving in the opposite direction as us, though. So there’s that, at least.”

Father and daughter had their heads poking out from behind a large boulder as they peered through the fading daylight. As Bilbo focused on Azog’s riders and tried to count how many there were, Baylee checked the area immediately around them. From what she could see, there was nothing they needed to worry about—aside from the riders, of course.

Hearing a loud sniff, she turned her head to the left and let out a small gasp. Grabbing the back of her father’s jacket, she pulled him down behind the rock with her. Her eyes were wide and her face had paled slightly.

“What? What is it?” he whispered.

“To our left. Be _very_ careful.”

Frowning, he slowly rose up again until he could just _barely_ see overtop the rock. His brows rose and he quickly ducked back down. “That is an _enormous_ bear.”

“And it’s only a few hundred yards away—I think. It’s a bit hard to tell.”

He swallowed hard and, grabbing her hand, started to guide her back down the rocky path. It was a bit of a perilous descent; not only was Bilbo rushing, but with the sun setting, it was getting hard to see where the rocks were. More than once, Baylee hissed in pain as she stubbed her toes or Bilbo quietly swore when he stepped on one. When they could hear the grumblings of the dwarves and Gandalf, however, he slowed their pace, making it easier for Baylee to keep up.

“They’re back!” Bombur chirped when he saw the two hobbits scrambling down the side of a rock.

“How close is the pack?” Dwalin questioned before either could utter a word.

“Too close,” Bilbo panted, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees. “Th-three leagues a-a-at the most.”

“But that’s not the worst of it,” Baylee added. “There was—”

“Have the wargs picked up our scent?” Dwalin interjected.

“Not yet, but they will,” Baylee answered. “We have another problem, though.”

Gandalf stepped forward. “Did they see you?”

Shaking his head, Bilbo stood upright again. “N-no, that’s not it.”

A smile spread across the wizard’s face. “What did I tell you? Both as quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar and Mouse-Lass material.”

As the dwarves started grin and congratulate Bilbo and Baylee on a job well done, the former pursed his lips. “Will you—Will you just listen?!” he suddenly snapped, making the rest of the company look at him in shock.

“There’s something _else_ out there!” Baylee pipped up. “M-maybe more dangerous than the wargs!”

At that, Gandalf frowned. “What form did it take?” he demanded. “Like a bear?”

The hobbits exchanged curious glances. “Y-yes, but bigger,” Bilbo said.

“ _Much_ bigger,” Baylee added.

Bofur frowned as he looked up at the wizard. “You knew about this beast!?” He didn’t like that Gandalf seemingly ignored him and walked away. Shaking his head, he turned to face the group. “I say we double back.”

“And be run down by a pack of orcs?” Thorin questioned, his brow rising.

“There is a house.” Gandalf let out the smallest of sighs as he turned around to face the group once more. “It’s not far from here. We might be able to take refuge there.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed slightly; he didn’t like the guarded way in which Gandalf spoke. “Whose house?” he questioned. “Are they friend or foe?”

He shook his head. “Neither. He will help us…or he will kill us.” He watched as the group exchanged worried glances with one another; he knew that they didn’t at all like this option.

“What choice do we have?” Thorin grumbled after a moment. He jumped as a roar unlike any they had ever heard before echoed through the night; whatever creature made that noise had to have been truly monstrous in size.

“None,” came Gandalf’s grim reply.

Once more, the dwarves and hobbits found themselves running from their enemies in pursuit of shelter. Gandalf was at the forefront of the group, doing his best to urge the others to keep up. Unlike the seemingly tireless wizard, however, the dwarves and hobbits still ached from escaping Goblin Town just two days ago and every step they took made their legs and their lungs burn.

Over open land and through forested land, they ran. In the distance, they could hear the growling and the snarling of Azog and his riders. Even further in the distance, they could hear the roaring of the great bear; but whether it was following them or the warg riders, they didn’t want to stop and find out.

“It’s not much further now!” Gandalf called as they ran through a patch of oak forest.

A curse suddenly arose from the middle of the group as Bilbo’s foot got caught on a root, sending him tumbling forward. Before he could get back to his feet, however, Bofur ran by and, grabbing the back of his coat, lifted him up and threw the hobbit over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

From his new vantage point, he could see the other dwarves huffing and puffing as they ran. Though he was thankful to be carried, breathing was still a bit of a chore, as Bofur’s shoulder was jabbing right into his sternum. He tried to not think about it as he searched for his daughter; he knew she wasn’t at the front of the group, so when he failed to see her towards the back, he started to panic.

Just as he was about to call out for her, the bear roared again, the sound making them all stop in their tracks. It was _much_ closer now, bringing terror to their hearts.

“Keep running!” Gandalf called, holding his staff aloft like a banner for them to follow.

As the arrangement of the group shifted, Bilbo finally spotted Baylee. Like him, she had been plucked up and was draped over Fili’s shoulder.

The group was surrounded by bright, warm sunlight as they came out of the shadow of the forest. Bilbo blinked many times, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the change in brightness. He heard Gandalf shout something, but what, he couldn’t understand. Pushing himself up a bit, he managed to turn just enough to see a pleasant looking cottage up ahead. They didn’t seem to be too much farther away, making him sigh with relief.

But that relief was short lived.

It was as they were passing through the front gate that they heard the bear’s roar—it was even closer now. So close, in fact, that the bear burst forth from the forest, sending leaves and broken branches in all directions. Letting out a second roar, it ran at full speed towards the house. The color drained from Bilbo’s face and he felt faint at the very sight of it.

“Open the door! Quickly!” Gandalf ordered.

Bilbo, his eyes fixed on the fast-approaching beast, didn’t see Thorin shove past them, nor did he see him lift the front latch of the door. What he did see, however was just how fast the bear was moving. When the dwarves and Gandalf rushed into the cottage, the bear had reached the front gate.

Bofur quickly set him down on the ground before turning around to help push the doors shut. Fili darted over, practically dropping Baylee in Bilbo’s arms before also racing back to help as well. The hobbits let out yelps of surprise when the bear’s monstrous head forced itself against the closing doors, trying to push its way inside. It snapped its jaws at the dwarves and Bilbo could see that its teeth were at _least_ as long as his hand. The combined might of the dwarves proved too much for it and, with a loud ‘thunk’ followed by a ‘thud’, the doors had snapped shut and the bar slid into place.

“Wh-what was that?!” Ori stammered, his eyes wide as he turned to look at Gandalf.

Gandalf, his shoulders still heaving from their run, glanced first at Ori then at the door. “ _That_ is our host,” he told answered. He ignored the looks of bewilderment and fear from the others. “His name is Beorn and he is a skin-changer.” He turned away from the group, making to lead them away from the door. “Sometimes he has the appearance of a great, strong man, Other times, a huge, black bear.”

“Is-is he that foul tempered when he’s a man?” Bilbo dared to ask. He shrank back slightly, using his daughter as somewhat of a shield as Gandalf shot him a scolding look.

“The bear is unpredictable,” he answered, “though the man can be reasoned with.” A tired sigh left his mouth as he continued walking. “However, he is not overly fond of dwarves. But, for tonight, at least, you are safe here. You can rest easy knowing that no orcs will be allowed near this place.”

“He’s goin’ away!” Ori chirped. He turned away from the door where he had been spying through a crack.

Dori shook his head as he dragged his youngest brother away from the door. “Get away from there! It’s not natural—none o’ this is.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “It’s clear he’s under some sort o’ dark spell.”

The wizard let out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t be a fool. He is under no one’s enchantment but his own, Master Dori.”

“Da’?” Baylee quietly asked.

“Ye-yes, dear?” he replied, looking down at her.

“You can put me down now.”

He blinked, suddenly realizing that he was still holding her. If his face wasn’t already red from all the running, his cheeks would have been a bit pink in embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear.” Setting her down, he watched her brushed off her dress.

As she did such, Baylee glanced around. Everything in the house was enormous, from the front door to the dining table—even the animals in their stalls seemed to be much bigger than they should have been. “Now I really feel like a Mouse-Lass,” she murmured.

“What was that, dear?” Bilbo questioned. Like her, he had started to look around only to find just how _big_ everything was.

“I said I really feel like a Mouse-Lass now,” she repeated. Pulling a braid over her shoulder, she started to run her fingers along it. Having only been a few days, her hair was still filled with the multiple braids left by Thorin. “Look at the size of these cows! I don’t think I’ve seen one even half as big as any of these!”

A tired laugh left his mouth as they walked past the bovines. “I suppose a creature as big as Beorn requires a lot of meat to keep him well fed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gandalf scolded. “Beorn does not eat meat. These cows and the horses outside work for him and talk to him. He does not eat them; neither does he hunt or eat wild animals.”

The dwarves groaned in dismay at this information.

“If we had had a more casual arrival, you would have seen both the hives upon hives lined up out front and the wonderous bees that were flying about the fields,” the wizard continued. As they left the barn portion of the house behind them and entered the living portion, he set his staff against the wall and removed his hat. “He lives mostly on honey and cream, though he does keep other food in his pantry. Take care to not eat a great deal of it! A little goes a long way when it comes to the food made by Beorn’s hands.”

“None of it better be green,” Ori muttered, though he was none-too-quiet about it.

“Where is the larder? I’m starving,” Bombur said. “If Gloin and Oin got a fire started, I’m sure I could make a fine mushroom soup—if this Beorn fellow were to have any mushrooms, that is.”

At the moment, however, Bombur was the only one really concerned with food. The others were exhausted from such a long run; what did not help was that it was quite hot outside. It wasn’t much cooler in the hall, so they took off the majority of their clothes, leaving them in just the bare minimum to be considered decent. They then laid themselves on the ground, too tired to do anything at the moment.

Weary though she was, Baylee decided that it was time for her to do her duty as the group’s Mouse-Lass and explore the area a bit. Wandering about Beorn’s home, she found it more akin to the halls great kings would have in the stories Bilbo once read her. The main room was long and wide, with what looked like the trunks of trees supporting the rafters. In the very center of the room was a hearth, which Gloin and Oin were now building a fire in. Looking up at the roof, she could see a small hole through which the eventual smoke would escape and along the walls were windows that were too high up to see anything but the sky through. The furniture was far too big for any of them to use comfortably; she had a feeling they’d do all their eating and sleeping on the floor.

Towards the back of the room, there were two doors, neither of which she could open, as she couldn’t reach the latch. Just as she was about to turn away and call for some assistance, she felt the handle of her sword brush against her arm. Getting an idea, she unbelted the weapon and, standing on her tippiest of toes, was only _just_ able to push the latch up. The door, thankfully, was balanced well enough that it practically swung open on its own.

Stepping into the room, her eyes widened in wonder. Shelves upon shelves stood before her, reaching all the way up to the ceiling and every single one of them was stuffed full of food. The air in here was _much_ cooler than in the rest of the hall, which made it all the more refreshing to step into.

“Yavanna’s sacred girdle, I’ve found the motherlode,” she mumbled, a big grin spreading across her face as she leaned her sword against the wall.

Walking further into the room, she found that the lower shelves were where Beorn kept his root vegetables and his mushrooms. A few shelves up was his store of cheeses—which, from what she could see, there were a few different types. What was even higher up, however, she couldn’t see, though she assumed that was where he kept his baked goods.

“Hm. I suppose I have no choice but to do a bit of climbing,” she told herself as she looked up at the shelves. “Good thing the space between the shelves isn’t taller than me.” Glancing over her shoulder, she could see her father and the dwarves still sprawled out on the ground. With a small laugh, she shook her head and began to climb. ‘Just wait until they see the bounty in here,’ she thought. ‘Even if there is no meat, they should be more than happy to see all this food.’

Soon enough, she was sitting on one of the upper middle shelves, her legs tucked underneath her as she ate part of a large honey cake. It was far more delicious than any honey cake she had had before; it was sweeter, but there was also a savoriness to it. She made a mental note to try asking Beorn what all was in the cake—should they come to meet him in his man form, that is.

“Mouse-Lass? Are you in here?”

She blinked and, crawling to the edge of the shelf, she found Thorin looking around the pantry for her. Her brow rose; when she didn’t answer straight away, he started looking behind the potatoes and inside of a box holding many, many carrots. Just as he was about to look behind a massive barrel, she called down, “You won’t find me there.”

He was forced to back up a few paces in order to see her properly; she was nearly ten feet off the ground. “I see you’re taking your role of Mouse-Lass very seriously,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. From where she was, Baylee could see that there was a small smile on his lips.

“Well, it _is_ one of my jobs to scavenge for food for us,” she smiled.

“Yes, but you’re on the wrong shelf. The mouse food is one below you.”

“This mouse prefers honey cakes and berry pies to cheese.”

“Will you be coming down any time soon?” He chuckled and shook his head; she was actually rather surprised by how jovial he seemed. Maybe the sight of so much food had lifted his spirits? “Or will you be remaining up there for the duration of our stay?” His brows rose and he stepped forward as she tossed down a seed cake to him; it was almost bigger than his entire hand. “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure I’d like to come down,” she joked. “I can finally see above everyone’s heads.” She popped the last bit of honey cake into her mouth.

Thorin snorted, his brow rising. “Alright, you’ve had your fun and your snack. Come down now and we can go tell the others what you’ve found.”

“I suppose I must. I don’t want to imagine how bad of a scolding da’s going to give me if he finds me this high up, anyway.” She carefully brought her legs out from underneath her, letting them slip over the edge. As she readied herself to turn around and climb back down, though, Thorin stopped her.

“It’ll be safer if you jumped,” he said.

One of her brows rose. “Safer? How is jumping safer than simply climbing down?”

At that, he gave her an unamused expression. “If you climbed down, your foot or hand could slip and you’d be left as a bloody mess on the floor,” he bluntly explained. “If you jump, I’ll catch you.”

She bit her lower lip; Thorin did have a point. In fact, her hands slipping as she climbed down was a very real threat; even after thoroughly wiping her hands on her skirt, there was still a bit of a buttery residue left by the honey cake. Her fingers started stroking her braid again.

“…The-the-the thing is, the last time someone said that to me, I ended up with a broken arm,” she admitted.

His expression softened a bit. “I promise I’ll catch you,” he said, his voice also gentler.

Swallowing hard, she continued to stroke her braid for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, she relented. “Alright, I’ll—I’ll jump.” She watched as he set the seed cake down on the first shelf before moving to stand below her.

He held his arms out, ready to catch her. “Alright, Mouse-Lass. Whenever you’re ready.”

Nodding, she hesitated for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and pushed herself away from the shelf. The fall wasn’t a very long one—six feet at the most—so when Thorin caught her much sooner than she expected, she let out a startled squeak and opened her eyes.

“I told you I’d keep my promise,” Thorin chuckled, his brow rising somewhat. “Unlike whoever it was that left you with a broken arm.”

Her cheeks flushed and a sheepish smile appeared on her lips. “Thank you.” It felt a bit strange, being held by him—she was used to getting picked up and carried by Bofur and Fili, yes, but not Thorin. It was not an unpleasant feeling, however; in fact, it was very much the opposite. “I do appreciate it—especially the bit where you didn’t drop me and my arm remained unbroken.”

“You’re as light as feather, Mouse-Lass. The chances o’ me dropping you were extremely slim.” He lightly shook his head, his braids swaying back and forth. “I can only hope you weigh a bit more when we leave this place; I fear strong gust of wind may pick you up and carry you away otherwise.”

“If we keep having to run for our lives everywhere, I’m afraid that may become a possibility,” she laughed. “Especially when we’ve no food.”

“Then it’s an especially good thing that Gandalf led us to this place and its extremely full pantry,” he grinned.

“Yes, it truly is,” a new voice agreed, taking them by surprise. Thorin turned around, seeing Bilbo standing in the doorway. “Thorin, why are you holding my daughter?” he asked, his brow rising.

“He caught me when I jumped from a shelf,” Baylee explained as she was set back on her feet. She smoothed out her dress and petticoats. “The top three shelves, by the way, are where the breads and baked goods are. You’re going to love the honey cakes.” There was a smile on her lips, though there was a fair bit of guilt in it as she saw Bilbo’s eyes widen in horror.

“Ba-Baylee Baggins, what do you think you were doing, climbing that high up!?” he scolded, wagging a stern finger at her. “And with no one around, I bet! What if you had fallen, hmm? You’d get more than a broken arm if you were to land on this stone floor!”

Another sheepish smile came to her lips. “I won’t do it again, da’. At least, not without supervision.”

At that, he cocked a brow. “You had better not. If I find you _have_ , though, then I’ll-I’ll—I’ll tie you to one of those posts out there so you _can’t_ do any more climbing.” He shook his head, sighing. “Now let’s go tell the others about this pantry. They’re already contemplating on who should risk going outside to see about getting some honey…”

The company spent the rest of the day inside the house, enjoying the relative safety of the place. A bit more exploring had shown them that the second door led into a sort of open hallway. One of the hall’s branches led out onto a covered porch area, where they could walk down into a wonderful vegetable garden; they were hesitant to do this at first, however. Fearing that Beorn was still around in his bear form, the group sent Bilbo and Baylee outside, as they were the smallest and sneakiest members of the company. When they returned, Bilbo with a large head of cabbage under each arm and Baylee, using her dress as a basket, brought in many large strawberries.

Between the fresh food from the garden and what food was already in Beorn’s pantry, the group found themselves not caring about the lack of meat. Having found one of their host’s cooking pots, Bombur made up a large batch of mushroom stew (his wife’s recipe, he said, which was quite famous throughout Ered Luin) while the others did their exploring about the place.

“We found some bedding!” Fili and Kili called out around midafternoon. They came into the main hall from the hallway; each was dragging a rectangular cushion about twelve feet long and five feet wide.

“There are four more of these waiting for us t’ get them,” Kili explained as he dropped the end of his on the ground. “We’ll have t’ share them, obviously, but there should be enough room that we’ll each have enough space t’ be comfortable.”

Gloin quickly did the math in his head. “Which means five of the beds will have three apiece, but one o’ them will have to have four.”

Bifur spoke, but being that he could only speak Khuzdul, the hobbits didn’t understand him. The others, however, laughed at his comment.

“You need not worry about Bombur taking up two spaces,” Gandalf told the others, a bit of mirth in his voice, “because I will not be sleeping in here.”

Bilbo frowned. “Where do you intend on sleeping, then?” he questioned.

“I will not be sleeping at all,” came the wizard’s reply. “Someone must keep watch outside for, if Beorn were to decide to return in his man form, they will need to explain our situation to him.” He walked over to the fire, where Bombur was stirring the stew as it simmered away. As he was offered the ladle for tasting, he gladly took it and, after blowing on it a few times, took a sip of the broth. “Ah, yes…As delicious as ever, Bombur. Though I daresay it needs a bit more salt.”

He smiled and handed the ladle back before continuing his previous explanation. “Though Beorn can be reasoned with, if he were to walk inside and, without any sort of warning, find thirteen dwarves and two hobbits snoring away on his floor, that will greatly lessen our chances of reasoning with him. _Especially_ since, as I mentioned before, he is not overly fond of dwarves.”

“And what if he were to return in his bear form?” Thorin questioned, his brow rising. “What would you do then? He could try t’ attack you and, given his size, there’s a strong chance he’d win.”

Gandalf looked almost offended by his inquiry. “Thorin Oakenshield, do you take me for a simple old man?” he retorted. “I am a wizard and I am quite capable of handling myself against a skin-changer. Now, having to handle myself against a skin-changer while _also_ having to keep an eye on thirteen pesky dwarves and their hobbits is an entirely different story.”

Thorin fell silent, his cheeks ever a touch red from the embarrassment of being told off by Gandalf. The slightest bit of a pout had also come to his lips.

Seeing his expression, Baylee quietly giggled as she hulled strawberries. When Thorin cocked a brow and glanced at her, she was barely able to retain her laughter as she pretended to not even notice him. She merely continued on with her hulling of berries, pausing only to toss the leafy bits into a separate bowl. When she risked another peek at him, she found that his brow was still raised and he was watching her. Her cheeks turned a bit red and she quickly looked back at her work; she thought she might have been seeing things, but she could have sworn there had been a bit of a playful smile on his lips.

And, for some reason, it made her stomach flutter.

From across the fire, Bilbo watched the nearly-silent exchange between the two and he could see that a small smile had, indeed, come to the king’s face. His brows knit themselves together slightly and he forced himself to look away, not wanting to be caught staring by either of them. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of what he had seen, but when he added them together with the other strange behaviors he had noticed from the two of late—Thorin combing and braiding Baylee’s hair, the two of them sitting away from the group at night to talk, Baylee believing that Halfast won’t be interested in her upon their return the Shire—he felt a bit worried. With these thoughts in mind, he got up and went over to Bofur, who was whittling away at a small piece of wood he got from the firewood bin.

“Hm?” Bofur looked up as he felt a tapping on his shoulder; seeing that it was Bilbo, he smiled. “What do you need, lad?”

“Can…can I talk to you?” he asked, sounding both confused and bit awkward. “Out on the porch?” He stole a look over at Baylee again, watching as she lightly smacked Nori’s hand away when he tried to steal a berry.

“Is somethin’ wrong?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly.

“N-no, nothing’s wrong. I’m just—I’m just having a bit of a-a-a—um—a father moment, I guess you could say.” He gave Bofur a smile that he had _meant_ to be reassuring, but it came out looking more uncertain than anything.

Not wholly convinced, Bofur nodded slightly. “Alright then.” Holding both his whittling knife and the piece of wood in one hand, he stood up and followed the hobbit across the room. He was in the middle of pulling the door open when, from the other side, a great shove pushed the door the rest of the way open, nearly squashing him between the door and the wall.

Fili grunted as he came in, dragging a third cushion; behind him was Kili, who dragged a fourth. Seeing that he had nearly squished Bofur, Fili gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, Bofur. I didn’t see you there.”

“Be a wee bit more careful, lad,” Bofur said, his brow rising and a chuckle leaving his throat. “I don’t think Beorn wants t’ find squashed dwarf plastered on his walls.”

Bilbo’s nose scrunched up at the rather unpleasant mental image Bofur’s words gave him. Shaking his head, he waited for Fili and Kili to pass by before heading out into the hallway. He could hear Bofur following along behind him; the dwarf was quietly humming to himself and, if Bilbo had looked over his shoulder, he would have seen that he was whittling away once more.

When they both stepped out onto the porch, the hobbit breathed in the warm, summer air. It was heavily scented with clover and honeysuckle, scents that made him long for his own garden back home. Being much too short to rest his arms on the railing—it was at least two feet over his head—he instead opted for leaning against one of the balusters.

“So, what’s this ‘father moment’ you wanted t’ talk about?” Bofur asked after a moment of silence. Like Bilbo, he was much too short to reach the handrail, leaving him to lean against a baluster. As he spoke, he continued to carve the piece of wood, though he looked up for a few seconds.

“We-well, as you know, Baylee’s got herself a lad back in Hobbiton,” he started. “A very nice lad with a good family name and a good upbringing. Perfect husband material for her, if I must say so.”

“An’ yet, she says he isn’t her lad—not yet, at least,” Bofur countered.

He pouted at him. “Bofur, he _kissed_ her _twice_ the day that we left! I don’t know how it is among dwarves, but that usually signals the start of some sort of courtship with us hobbits.” He then shook his head and rubbed his face. “Bu-but, that’s a bit beside the point! Baylee has herself a lad waiting for her in Hobbiton.”

Nodding in understanding, the dwarf remained silent so he could continue.

“And she’s always been very fond of this lad. It’s quite adorable, really—they both turn as red as tomatoes when they’re around one another and get all bashful. But I digress! Despite her having a lad back home, I-I-I-I think she’s falling for a member of the company.”

Bofur paused in his whittling. A chuckle left his mouth and his brow rose somewhat. “Well, for the most part, we’re not bad lads,” he joked. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind havin’ one o’ us for a son-in-law.”

A small pout came to Bilbo’s lips. “I’m serious, Bofur! I sincerely think Baylee’s starting to fall in love with one of you lot! And…and I think he’s falling for her, too.”

Going back to carving, Bofur chuckled again. “An’ why does that trouble you? Just because she may or may not have a lad waiting for her back in the Shire? Or do you honestly not like the idea o’ having a dwarf for a possible son-in-law?”

“Now you know full well it’s not the fact that he’s a dwarf,” he retorted, putting his hands on his hips. “It’s—it’s—it’s more or less the fact that, should all go well with the quest, I-I…” He paused for a moment, his expression falling as he let out a heavy sigh. “Should all go well with the quest and this dwarf returns her affections like I’m beginning suspect he does…I don’t think she’d want to come back home to the Shire. Even with how in love with Halfast she had been when we left.”

Bofur frowned as he looked at him. “One o’ the Durins, then,” he stated, his voice gentle and lacking its usual humor.

“Yes.”

“Fili?”

“No. I don’t think I’d be as worried if it were him.”

“Then it’s Thorin.”

“Yes.”

The two males stood in silence for some time. There was a slight breeze that made the leaves on the vegetables rustle slightly and, in the distance, they could hear the buzzing of bees. Bilbo closed his eyes and tried to pretend that, just for a few minutes, he was back home in the Shire. It was of little use, however. Too much had taken place in the last few days alone to let him imagine such a comfort.

“I thought I _had_ noticed Thorin actin’ a bit different,” Bofur said, finally breaking the silence. “But I thought it was because o’ his brush with death—things like that can really change a person.” Closing his knife, he tucked it away in his trouser pocket while he let the wood fall to the floor with a clatter. He turned so that his back was against the baluster and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I would have thought that, too, except I’ve noticed some behavior changes _before_ we reached the mountains.” He rubbed his face before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his shoulder against the baluster. “I started noticing it back in Rivendell, but I told myself it was probably how Thorin acted when he was relaxed and without much worry.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “What did you notice?”

“It-it-it’s going to sound a bit like I’m being a bit paranoid, but…on the day you lot sent me off to find them for dinner, I found them sitting on one of the overlooks. Thorin had clearly braided her hair—it was just a simple, singular braid, nothing fancy—and he was…he was sitting rather close to her.”

“If I _didn’t_ know Thorin, then I would tell you that, aye, you are being paranoid.” He watched as the hobbit frowned. “But I _do_ know Thorin an’ I know well enough that he doesn’t usually like t’ be close to people—at least, in the physical sense. He’ll give a hug or braid a family member’s hair every once in a while, but I’m sure you’ve noticed how he tends t’ lay his bedroll away from the rest o’ the group or how he goes off to brood by himself.”

“So…I’m _not_ being paranoid?”

He shrugged. “To be fair? I think you are bein’ just a wee bit so. But, it’s understandable, given that you’re the lass’s father.” Turning his gaze out over the garden, he could see that the sky was beginning to change from blue to pink as afternoon faded into evening. “If Baylee an’ Thorin _are_ falling for one another as you suspect, that’s going t’ leave the lass with a big choice on her plate once this quest is over…an’ you’re afraid that she’ll choose the option that’ll keep her a thousand miles from her home. Any father worth his salt would be scared at that kind o’ thought.” He looked back over at the hobbit to find his eyes watery.

“She’s my little girl,” Bilbo said, his voice cracking slightly. “And I know she’s all grown up now and can make her own decisions, but—but she’s all I have left, Bofur.” 

Frowning, Bofur walked over to him and set his hand on his shoulder. Before he could say anything, though, Bilbo turned around and clung onto him, burying his face into his shoulder. Bofur wrapped his arms around him, one hand gently stroking the back of his head in a comforting fashion.

“I don’t want to lose her.” His voice was muffled, though it was obvious he had given up on trying to not cry. “She’s my only family.”

“I know, lad.” He continued to stroke the back of Bilbo’s head while his other hand started to gently rub his back. “I know. Your wee lass living in a big ol’ mountain with a bunch of dwarves isn’t the sort o’ idea many hobbit fathers would want t’ envision for their daughters, especially when that mountain is half a world away.”

“I-I-I don’t even want her to move out of B-Bag End. If-If she had picked Halfast, I was going to let them live there with me. The…the thought of living in that big hobbit hole all by myself terrifies me. My-my father built it to be a place full of-of love and happiness. There won’t be any of that when she leaves.”

He glanced down at him, his brows furrowing again. “Now, Bilbo, don’t you go actin’ like she’s already made up her mind. We don’t know for sure if she’s fallen for Thorin or vice versa. An’ even if they have, there’s still a long while before we finish this quest. Do you know how much can happen between now an’ then?” He leaned back slightly and gently tilted Bilbo’s chin up so he could look at him. “A _lot_ can happen. But one thing’s goin’ t’ remain the same, no matter what happens an’ no matter what decision your lass may have t’ make.”

“Wh-what’s that?” he sniffled, his lower lip wobbling slightly. As Bofur’s hand came to rest on his cheek, he unconsciously leaned into the touch.

“You’re not goin’ t’ be alone.”

Frowning in confusion, his eyes met Bofur’s. “What do you—” Realization hit him like a brick and his eyes widened slightly. He felt his stomach beginning to twist about again. “ _Oh_.”

A small, reassuring smile came to his lips as he let his thumb gently stroked Bilbo’s cheek. “So don’t you go worryin’ about havin’ to live in that hobbit hole all by your lonesome,” he told him, his voice quiet. “Because I won’t let it happen. Even if your wee lass chooses Halfast over Thorin, I’ll still be there for you.”

A small, wobbly smile appeared on Bilbo’s lips. Without thinking, he rose up onto his toes and pressed his lips against Bofur’s. After a few seconds, he pulled back slightly, his cheeks bright red as he realized what he had done. Seeing the somewhat silly grin that had come to the dwarf’s face, though, left him feeling quite relieved.

“Thank you,” he then murmured, pressing his forehead against his.

“You know what this means though, aye?” Bofur asked, his voice quiet. When some confusion came to Bilbo’s face, he chuckled. “It means, should all go well, you’ll be stuck with me for a _very_ long time.”

“I’m fine with that…even if it means refilling my ale supply every other week.”

A bit of a cheeky grin replaced the silly one before Bofur kissed him a second time, bringing the hobbit closer to him. He could feel a wave of relief beginning to wash over him; he had actually been rather on the fence about telling Bilbo how he felt. After all, he hadn’t been sure if Bilbo liked males—he hadn’t even known _he_ liked males until recently. Feeling Bilbo wrap his arms around his neck, he grinned into the kiss and leaned back against the baluster.

It was this sight that Baylee saw as she came around the corner, intending to summon them for dinner. Instead, she froze in mid-step and her eyes widened in shock. After a moment passed, she slowly backed up around the corner, not wanting to disturb them. Once she was in the relative safety of the hallway, she leaned against the wall, needing a moment to process what she had just seen.

‘My da’ and Bofur…were _kissing_ ,’ she thought. Bringing one of her braids over her shoulder, she started to run her fingers along it. ‘I’ve never seen da’ kiss _anyone_ before—I’ve never even thought da’ was the sort to fall in love. Yavanna’s bounty, I didn’t even know he _could_ fall in love!’ A smile started to spread across her lips. ‘But this is good. This is _very_ good! He deserves someone who makes him happy and who he can talk to. Yavanna only knows he could have used someone like that when I was growing up.’

As she stepped away from the wall and headed for the door, she quietly laughed to herself. ‘I knew that they had to have felt _something_ for each other—I just didn’t expect either of them to act on those feelings so soon.’

Entering the hall once more, she pushed her braid back over her shoulder. As she drew closer, she could see many of the dwarves held large bowls of the mushroom stew and they were quiet as they ate. She sat down on one of the large cushions, her dress and petticoats fanning out around her as she sank down into the softness.

“Didn’t you find Bofur and Bilbo?” Thorin questioned, his brows furrowing.

“Oh, I did,” she replied. “They’re having one of their deep conversations, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He nodded in understanding, leaving her feeling relieved that he didn’t press the matter. She didn’t think that it was her place to tell the others about the relationship between her father and Bofur—that was for them to tell. Covering her mouth as she yawned, she used her other hand to reach into her pocket. From it, she pulled a large piece of the honey cake she had snacked on earlier.

“You should be eating stew, not sweets.”

Taking a bite of the honey cake, she looked up to find Fili and Kili coming towards her, large bowls of stew in their hands. They took some care as they sat down on either side of her, not wanting to jostle either her or their dinner.

“I’ll have some when da’ comes in and gets his dinner,” she assured them. “Between the two of us, we _might_ be able to finish one of those bowls.” Chuckling, she glanced around at the others as they ate. “Where did you find these cushions at, by the way?”

“There was a big closet inside one o’ the rooms,” Kili told her. “We were hoping t’ find some sort of drink, but I suppose not havin’ to sleep on hard wood for the night is just as good.”

“I would hope. After sleeping on that rocky ground at the Carrock, my back could use a bit of softness.” She chuckled and lightly shook her head before eating more of the honey cake.

Fili’s nose scrunched up slightly. “Aye, not havin’ bedrolls is going t’ be a bit o’ a pain from here on out. Maybe well get lucky an’ this Beorn fellow will have somethin’ that we could use.”

“I just hope he’s not too upset when he finds out that we’ve all but invaded his home. We’re eating his food, using his dishes, getting into his spare bedding…” Despite the small frown she wore, she popped a bit more honey cake into her mouth.

“For that, we just blame Gandalf and Azog,” Kili told her. “Azog’s the reason we needed to seek shelter and Gandalf is the one who knew where to find that shelter.” A cheeky grin came to his lips before quickly disappearing behind his spoon; Baylee thought it resembled more of a ladle than a spoon, though.

“He _did_ say he was more than capable o’ handling himself against a skin-changer, after all,” Fili added with an even cheekier grin. “So long as he doesn’t have us thirteen pesky dwarves an’ our two hobbits to watch over.”

She quietly laughed, her brow rising. “That is true,” she agreed. “Though, something tells me he may have just been saying that in order to placate our fears.”

The princes snorted into their bowls. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” Fili joked. As Baylee broke off part of the honey cake and offered it to him, he gladly accepted.

“Ah, I think he’d be able t’ take this Beorn fellow,” Kili said, also accepting a bit of honey cake. “You saw how he handled that enormous goblin back in Goblin Town.” He then paused and frowned, looking down at the hobbit. “What…exactly happened to you in Goblin Town? I know you weren’t with us when we were brought before that big lug.”

“I got separated from through group when I kicked a goblin in the face.”

Once more, they snorted. “ _You_ were able t’ kick a _goblin_ in the face?” Fili did his best to not burst out laughing as he spoke.

She pouted. “Yes, I was! He was bent over, trying to look up my dress, so I kicked him in the face. He still had a hold on my dress though, so when he toppled over the edge of the cliff, I went toppling with him.” A sigh then left her mouth as she pulled her dress up slightly, looking at her ankle. “I was able to grab onto a rope, but he had grabbed my ankle. I…well, I brained him because there was no way I’d be able to hold us _both_ up on that rope. Not that I _wanted_ to hold us both up, mind you.” Her nose scrunched up slightly as Kili reached over and tousled her hair.

“Well, you did good, Mouse-Lass,” he grinned. “Your first real battle an’, not only did you survive, but you got some good scars out o’ it as well!”

A halfhearted smile came to her lips; she was about to tell him that hobbits didn’t find such things attractive when she spotted Bilbo and Bofur returning to the group. “They’re back,” she said with a small, genuine smile. She could see that her father’s cheeks were a bit pink and part of her wanted to tease him about it, but she would spare him—for now.

Knowing that Bilbo would want to sit close to his daughter, Kili got up and moved to sit on the other side of Fili. As Bilbo came over and sat down, Bofur went over and grabbed himself a bowl so he could get some stew.

“Have you eaten yet, young lady?” Bilbo asked, looking down as Baylee leaned against him.

“Not any of the stew, no. I figured we’d share a bowl, given how large they are.” She offered him the last bit of her honey cake, which he took without question. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly; his eyes were a touch on the puffy side, as if he had been crying.

He glanced around at the others and saw that the bowls were quite large. “Yes, that does sound like a good idea,” he said with a small chuckle. A soft sigh left his mouth as he wrapped his arm around her and gently rubbed her shoulder. He then quietly told her, “I…have something I need to tell you in a little while—after dinner, when we can talk in—”

“It’s alright, da’. I already know.”

His eyes widened in shock. “Wh-wh-what?! How!?”

“The others sent me to fetch you and Bofur for dinner,” she explained, her voice quiet so only he could hear. “And…well, I didn’t want to disturb you two, so I didn’t say anything and came back. I told the others the two of you were just having one of your deep conversations.” She quietly giggled, her brow rising as she looked up at him. “Looks like it got a little deeper than normal.”

His cheeks going red, he pursed his lips somewhat. “Very funny, young lady,” he said, voice dry. Then, sighing heavily, he tiredly rubbed his face. “You…You’re not upset, though?”

“Why would I be upset?”

“Well, I’ve heard plenty of horror stories of single parents starting to court again only for their children to act like complete terrors when their parent’s lover is around—all because they didn’t like the idea of said parent’s attention being shared.”

“First of all, I’m not a child anymore,” she reminded him, her voice a bit on the dry side now. “Secondly, I’m actually extremely happy for the two of you. I’ve…I’ve always kind of wished you’d find someone to start courting, da’. Or, at the very least, someone to fancy. After everything you’ve done for me and put up with, you deserve that kind of happiness.”

He quietly laughed, closing his eyes and resting his head against hers. “I should have known you’d say something like that,” he sighed. “But I assure you, there have been folk I’ve fancied over the years. I just—I just wanted to keep my focus on you, though. I was so young when you came around…I wanted to set a good example for you.”

“And now, here we both are…in the middle of who-knows-where with a group of dwarves and a wizard,” she softly chuckled. She tilted her head back slightly to look at him. “I think you set a rather fine example.”

As he opened his eyes, he saw a cheeky grin on her lips. “You little…” Shaking his head, he chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “At least you’re here with me. Yavanna only knows what would have happened to you if I had left you back in Bag End.”

“I would be quite bored and extremely worried about you, that’s what.” She smiled as he gave her a small squeeze and looked up as she saw a figure walking towards them. It was Bofur, who held two bowls of stew.

“Here you go, lad,” he said, leaning over slightly so he could hand it to Bilbo. “There’s two spoons because I figured your wee lass an’ you would probably sharin’, due t’ the size an’ all.” He smiled at them both before moving to sit beside Bilbo.

Chuckling, Bilbo lightly shook her head. “Baylee had the same thought,” he told him. He resituated himself so that he was sitting cross-legged, being careful to not spill the stew. Then, handing Baylee one of the spoons, he picked the other one up himself.

Seeing the size of the spoon, Baylee quietly giggled; it was the size of a large serving spoon compared to her. She gathered up a bit of the stew and, after blowing on it a few times, tasted the broth. “Oh, that is _delicious_ ,” she said, staring at it in surprise. Though she, like all hobbits, was a fan of mushrooms, she hadn’t ever tasted mushrooms used in such a delicious way.

“It’s my sister-in-law’s recipe,” Bofur told her. “For the most part, anyway. O’ course, Bombur had t’ use some different mushrooms, since he couldn’t find the usual ones an’ since he didn’t have any chicken stock or wine. But aye, it’s good, isn’t it?” He looked over at the two hobbits, a fond smile coming to his lips as he saw them practically shoveling it into their mouths. “Eat slower, you two—there’s plenty left if you’re still hungry.”

Baylee glanced up in time to see her father’s gaze lock with Bofur’s for a few seconds. A small smile came to her lips as she saw their cheeks redden slightly before they went back to eating.

‘I never thought I’d see the day my father blushes like a schoolboy,’ she thought, quietly laughing to herself. ‘Let alone because of a dwarf…But I’m glad he is. He and Bofur are a cute match. I just hope that, by the end of this quest, they still make each other as happy as they do now.’

* * *

_Glistening black eyes stared at her from all directions as pale, diseased bodies chased after her. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t get away from them. Their shrieks and cries filled the air as, no matter what direction she ran in, she was met by snarling goblins._

_Her lungs burning, she ran around a corner and crouched down, pressing herself against the wall. She did her best to quiet her breathing—a difficult task, considering how out of breath she was. The goblins, who had been close behind her, ran right past as they came around the corner. She covered her mouth with her hand to make extra sure they wouldn’t hear her._

_When nearly a minute had passed and no other goblins came, she released her mouth. Slowly, she crept forward to look around the corner. No more black eyes or white bodies could be seen. The cries were distant and were fading with every passing second._

_Taking the chance, she darted forward. She ran back up the path, though whether it was the right direction or not, she didn’t know. It was impossible to tell down here. But surely, if she kept going up, she’d eventually find some exit to the outside, right?_

_She was crossing one of the many bridges when, in front of her, four wargs came barreling down the path, each of them bearing an orcish rider. She spun around only to find that there were even more wargs and riders behind her. Both groups stayed on their end of the bridge, trapping her in the middle._

_One of the riders came forward: Azog. There was a wicked sneer on his face as he looked down at the tiny hobbit and he spoke to her, but what he said, she didn’t know; he was speaking in that strange, ugly language used by the orcs. The closer he and his warg came, the further she backed up. But the more she backed up, the closer she got to the other warg riders._

_Then, Azog reached behind him only to bring forth a burlap sack. He threw it towards her, smirking as it hit the ground and its contents came rolling out. Before she could stop herself, Baylee looked down and felt a scream rising in her throat._

_With cold, dead eyes, the decapitated heads of Thorin and Bilbo stared up at her._

Baylee bolted upright, panting heavily. Looking around, she found herself surrounded by darkness. Straight ahead of her, however, she could see the dying flames of the fire which told her she _wasn’t_ in Goblin Town. The sounds of dwarvish snoring further assured her that all was well—which brought double relief, as she now knew she hadn’t screamed.

Her body shaking, she pushed back the blanket and, being as careful as she could, she crawled off the cushion. She wrapped her arms around herself as she made her way across the hall, needing to get a drink of water. The water barrel stood much taller than her, of course, but the dwarves had managed to assemble a sort of stool out of a footstool some books they had found.

Reaching the top of the barrel, she only had to lean over slightly and use her cupped hands in order to get a drink. After she had drank a few handfuls, she climbed back down, but didn’t return to bed—not yet, at least. Instead, she sat down against the barrel and pulled her knees to her chest before allowing herself to cry.

‘Why do I keep having these nightmares?’ she thought, letting out a quaking breath. ‘Why can’t I have normal ones where I forget to put my clothes on before leaving Bag End or that I used salt instead of sugar in a pie?’ She knew the answer, however, which only made more tears spill from her eyes.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard footsteps coming towards her. Quieting her sniffles, she thought she could remain hidden in the shadows—after all, it was apparently all too easy for her to hide in plain sight. She was positive that, whoever it was, would walk right past her, get himself some water, and return to bed.

But she was wrong.

He sat down beside her, moving slowly so as to not startle her in case she hadn’t noticed his presence. Before she could lift her head to try and see who it was, they comfortingly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer to them. Her eyes fell shut as she felt fur brush against the side of her face.

Thorin.

“D-did I wake you?” she asked with a quiet sniffle.

“Aye.”

“I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It couldn’t be helped. Night terrors strike when they please and rarely take mercy on their victims.”

“…Do…do you ever have nightmares?”

“More often than I would like to admit.”

“How do you deal with them?”

“The only way I can: By telling myself that they’re not real. Even the ones based on memories, I have to tell myself that they took place in the past an’ the past is long ago.” A quiet sigh left his mouth as he started to gently stroke her shoulder. “It’s hard at times…especially when the dreams seem more real than the waking world.”

She nodded slowly in understanding, resting her head against his shoulder. “Ever since we had that run in with the trolls, I’ve had at least two nightmares a week. I—I know it doesn’t sound like much, but prior to that, I’d only have one or two a _year_.”

His eyes closing as well, Thorin tilted his head down to rest atop hers. “That doesn’t surprise me. Not only did you receive a life-altering injury, but it was also your first taste of battle…not to mention, right after, we were chased by Azog’s riders.”

“I can only imagine they’ll get worse from here on out, since I…since I actually _killed_ things in Goblin Town.” A nearly-silent sigh left her mouth; she wouldn’t have expected him to come and comfort her like this, especially since she had woken him. After the last few days, she would have thought that he’d be more likely to scold her, but she was glad to find that she was wrong.

“Or, perhaps, they’ll start lessening.”

Her brow rose. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve faced and defeated monsters in the waking world. Who’s to say you won’t start defeating them in your dreams?”

A soft laugh left her mouth. “There you go, being the optimistic one again.”

“Someone has to be optimistic for you,” he murmured. Unconsciously, his hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, which he slowly began to finger comb. She had taken it out of the braids before going to bed, leaving her tresses free and somewhat tangled. “While you’re still positive in regards to others, I’ve noticed you’ve become less so when it comes to yourself.”

She was quiet for a few minutes, mulling over his words. While his fingers combed through her hair, she told herself he was just doing it to comfort her—though it did feel quite nice. “It’s…it’s been getting harder. The more dangers we run into, the more I come to realize that there is a very real and very strong chance that da’ or I might _not_ make it back to the Shire.” Her eyes started to sting as a fresh wave of tears filled them. “It terrifies me.”

“And yet, you continue to journey with us.”

“I can’t—I can’t just abandon you all,” she told him. “And not because I’d be hopeless at finding my way home again. Da’ needs me here. And Bombur needs me to find him herbs…and…and you need someone to tell you off when you’re being rude to people.” A small, albeit wobbly, smile came to her lips as she heard him quietly snort.

“That _used_ to be Balin’s job,” he told her, amusement in his voice. “I daresay he finds it more entertaining to leave it to you, though.”

She chuckled, her brow rising once more. “I can only imagine…the great Thorin Oakenshield, being put in his place by a little Mouse-Lass.”

“I assure you, it has far more of an effect coming from you than it does from him.” He smiled as he heard her giggle; the sound made his chest fill with an unfamiliar warmth. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, either: The last half dozen or so times he had been the reason for her giggling, he had felt it.

It was nice, knowing that he could make her laugh even when she wasn’t feeling her best.

“N-now, if only it’d work on Fili and K-Kili,” she said, laughter making her stutter slightly. “They just lose it la-laughing when I try to scold them.”

“I’m afraid that it takes a far more intimidating person to make those two knuckleheads shape up.” A quiet chuckle left his mouth as he opened his eyes and looked across the room.

Being a dwarf, his vision was a bit better in the darkness than a hobbit’s, so he was able to make out more than just the silhouettes of their sleeping companions. In particular, he could see that Bilbo was curled up in a small ball right beside Bofur, who had his arms wrapped around the hobbit. His brows rose somewhat at the sight and he found a small smile come to his lips. He thought better of mentioning it, however, not knowing if Baylee already knew or how she would react.

“Are you ready to return to bed, Mouse-Lass?” he asked after some minutes.

She nodded slowly, though part of her felt reluctant to move away from him. It felt nice, being held in such a fashion, especially when she was being held by someone so much stronger than her.

For the first time in weeks, she felt _safe_.

“Yes, I suppose that’s a good idea,” she sighed. “I don’t need da’ to wake up and panic because I’m not there.”

“Something tells me that, after the last few days, he’s sleeping too hard for that.” He slipped his arm out from behind her, though he was surprised by just how much willpower it took to do so. Standing, he turned and offered her a hand up.

“Da’ can be quite a heavy sleeper, so you’re probably right,” she softly giggled, taking his hand and standing. She followed him back to the large cushion; as they drew closer, she could see the silhouettes of her father and his beau. Bofur did, indeed, have his arms wrapped around the hobbit and she smiled at the sight, once again feeling both happy and relieved that Bilbo finally had someone to love.

Yet, at the same time, she felt a bit of longing fill her heart and she wished she had someone who would hold her in such a fashion. Shoving the thoughts aside, she climbed onto the cushion and curled up into a small ball. She quietly sighed as she covered herself with the blanket, having to fuss with it a bit in order to get it just right. Beside her, she could feel the cushion shift as Thorin climbed back under the blanket as well.

After making sure the blanket was snugly tucked under her chin, she let her hand fall onto the cushion just a few inches from her face. She closed her eyes, though her mind still seemed to be wide awake. Thoughts about what Thorin had said about her defeating monsters in both the waking and slumbering worlds raced through her mind, as did thoughts about how different things would be once they returned to the Shire with Bofur in tow.

They’d definitely need to increase their supply of ale…

Her eyes flitted opened when she felt something cover her hand. Brows furrowing in confusion, she glanced at it only to find that it was Thorin’s hand resting atop hers. She looked up at him; the dying firelight letting her see the tender smile he wore as he watched her. Her cheeks grew hot, but she shyly returned the look, feeling her stomach starting to flutter. Swallowing a bit hard, she laced her small fingers through his.

“Goodnight, Mouse-Lass,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He gave her hand the gentlest of squeezes. 

“Goodnight, Oakenshield.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug, but if any of my readers are interested in Pirates of the Caribbean, I've started posting my PotC fanfic, 'Of Sparrow and Drystan'~ So if you like pirates, history, or both, feel free to check it out~! Otherwise, enjoy some more cuteness between an Oakenshield and a Mouse-Lass

Something smelled warm and sweet.

Slowly opening her eyes, Baylee scrunched her nose up and blinked a few times against the bright morning light. Then, sitting up, she yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she looked around. Bombur was already beside the fire, stirring the contents of the same pot from last night—presumably, it had since been cleaned of the remaining mushroom stew. Fili and Kili were also awake, the former slicing up more strawberries while the latter sliced up apricots. Nori, Ori, and Bifur were all missing while everyone else remained asleep.

As she looked to her right, she found Bilbo and Bofur still curled up together. A smile came to her lips, though it faded somewhat as, when she looked to her left, she found that Thorin was gone, too.

‘Had that been a dream?’ she though, looking down at her hand. ‘Or did…did we _actually_ hold hands?’ She knew there’d be no way to tell if he had actually held her hand or not, but she tried anyway. ‘And why did it leave me feeling so warm and safe?’

“Ah, Baylee! You’re up!” Bombur chirped. “Could you come taste this for me, please? It needs somethin’, but I’m not quite sure what. I’m thinkin’ it needs more cheese.”

Nodding, she crawled off of the cushion and made her way over to him. “What is it?” she asked as she got closer.

“A savory custard that I made with some o’ the cheese in Beorn’s pantry,” he explained. “Since there’s no meat around an’ I haven’t been able t’ find a griddle or pan, this was the next best thing I could think of.” He held out a large spoon for her to taste from.

Taking the spoon, she blew on the custard a few times before sampling it. Being that she was still waking up, it took her a moment and a few more samples before coming to a conclusion. Then, handing the spoon back, she pushed some hair behind her ear. “It could do with more pepper and more cheese,” she told him. “Maybe even a bit of rosemary if it’s available.”

“Ooh, rosemary would be a _wonderful_ addition,” he grinned. “An’ I’m glad we agree on it needing more cheese. I didn’t want t’ go overboard, though.”

She chuckled. “It’s hard to go overboard on cheese,” she told him, “unless it’s a sharp cheese. This stuff seems to be fairly mild, though. Would you like me to go look in the garden for some rosemary?”

“Only if you’d like to. You just woke up, after all. I don’t want t’ have you doin’ too much when you’re still getting your wits about you.”

“It’s fine. The morning air may help wake me.” Covering her mouth as she yawned, she started to make her way towards the large door.

Soon enough, she was walking through the garden, her skin being warmed by the early morning sun. She closed her eyes for half a moment, slowly inhaling the fresh air before letting out a soft sigh. Save for the size of the vegetables, she almost felt like she was back home in Bag End.

‘Da’ only _wishes_ he could grow cabbages this big, though,’ she thought with a chuckle. Opening her eyes once more, she suddenly let out a small yelp and threw herself backwards; in front of her had been a spiderweb, with the spider right in the middle of it.

“G-G-Going around then,” she mumbled, a shudder running through her body. “The only bad things about gardens: The spiders…” Shaking her head, she went down a different row in order to reach the herb portion of the garden. The rosemary bush was easy enough to find, as it was one of a handful of plants in a raised bed to keep it from taking over the garden.

With a little effort, she was able to break off two stems from the plant. Mentally congratulating herself on her job well done, she turned around only to have her eyes widen as she froze to the spot.

No more than five yards from her was a _giant_ man. He stood taller than any creature she had seen before—even taller than the Great Goblin! He had wild, black hair and, thanks to his lack of shirt, she could see that his body was muscled. His face was solemn, but from what she could see, there was a wildness to his eyes.

‘So that’s Beorn…Now I understand just why everything’s so big,’ she thought, crouching down and ducking behind the rosemary bed. She watched as the giant lifted an enormous axe and started to come towards the garden. ‘Oh no…oh no…’

Pressing herself closer to the wooden frame, she watched Beorn get closer with every step. Her heart raced in her chest as he stopped right in front of her; instead of turning towards her, however, he faced away so he could pluck a few strawberries from a bush. Standing upright once more, he popped one into his mouth before turning and walking away.

Baylee let out a quiet sigh of relief. ‘How he didn’t see me walking out in the open is beyond me,’ she thought. “Then again, I’m apparently good at hiding in plain sight.’

Before Beorn had the chance to come back, the hobbit lass darted out of her hiding spot and ran back inside. Out of breath, she held the rosemary out to Bombur. “He-here you go, Bom-Bombur,” she panted.

“Why are you so out of breath?” he asked, frowning. Taking the rosemary from her, he put his hands on his hips.

“I-I saw…I saw Be-Beorn,” she answered, putting her hands on her waist as she closed her eyes.

“You saw him?” Kili gasped, looking up from the apricots. “What did he look like?”

“How big was he?” Fili asked, his eyes also wide.

Still trying to catch her breath, she held up her hand with her index finger raised in a ‘hold on’ fashion. After a moment or two, she opened her eyes again; her breath, for the most part, caught.

“He was _massive_ ,” she told them. “I think I’m just an inch or two taller than his knees…But I didn’t get too much of a good look at him. Understandably, I was trying my best to not be seen, especially when I saw him pick up an enormous axe.”

“…Only…his knees?” Kili repeated, a bit of color draining from his face. He looked at his brother. “That means we’ll barely reach his hips!”

“Hopefully Gandalf’s already talked to him,” Bombur said, his frown growing in size. “If he’s more than twice our heights, I don’t want t’ even think about what’ll happen if he gets upset with us…”

“If who gets upset with us?”

Everyone looked over, seeing Bilbo sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Thanks to how large the cushion was compared to him and the bits of hair he had sticking out all over the place, Baylee thought her father looked very much like a hobbit child.

“Beorn,” she answered him. “I saw him outside just now.”

His eyes widened as he stared at her. “Y-yo-you saw him?!” he squeaked.

She nodded. “I did…I’m just _barely_ taller than his knees.”

“Ooh, that’s not good…not good,” he mumbled. “I knew he was big, but _that_ big?! Please tell me he didn’t see you!”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “I don’t think he did. I hid myself under the rosemary bush.” She then tried to not giggle as Bilbo attempted to crawl off the cushion, but Bofur’s arms were still wrapped around him.

Bilbo’s cheeks turned dark red as he managed to untangle himself from the dwarf, who continued to sleep as if nothing had happened. He was more than a little thankful that no one seemed to pay him any attention. “Has Gandalf come back yet?”

“He’s off talkin’ with uncle,” Fili answered. As Baylee walked over to see how much fruit they had sliced up, he cut the stem off a strawberry and offered it to her.

“Where are Nori, Ori, and Bifur then?” she asked. “Thank you, by the way.” She took a bite of the berry.

“They’re in the front half o’ the house,” Bombur answered. “They’re tendin’ to the animals that need milking.”

Bilbo nodded slowly in understanding. “Well, that’s kind of them,” he said with a small chuckle. He ran a hand through his hair before covering his mouth as he yawned. “What’re you making, Bombur?”

He pulled the leaves from the stems before piling them up for cutting. “A savory cheese custard with a bit o’ rosemary. Fili an’ Kili are cutting up some fruit t’ go with it.” He pulled out one of his knives and, after checking that it was nice and sharp, started to cut the rosemary up.

Baylee went over and sat down on the cushion once more. “I bet we won’t even miss the bacon and sausage,” she chuckled. Bringing her hair over her shoulder, she started to finger-comb it.

“Hmm…I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Fili told her. “Because I could really do with some ham an’ eggs about now.”

Kili groaned, flopping backwards onto their cushion. “Don’t remind me! It feels like forever ago when we last had meat!”

Fili rolled his eyes. “We had meat the day before yesterday.”

“Like I said: Forever ago!”

“Going without meat for a few days won’t kill you,” Bilbo lightly scolded. “I daresay, you could use the ruffage.” He looked over at Baylee, giving her a pitying look when he saw her struggling with her hair. “What a time to _not_ have a comb on us anymore,” he sighed.

She wore a reassuring smile. “I’m sure I’ll manage, da’. Once I get these big knots out, it should get easier. Anyway, you’re the one who needs a comb more—your hair’s sticking out all over the place!” A giggle left her mouth as she saw Bilbo try to flatten his hair. Looking past him, she could see the pantry door opening. Out came Thorin and Gandalf, the latter lightly shaking his head. ‘I wonder what those two talked about?’ she thought.

“How much longer until breakfast is done?” Bilbo asked, watching as Bombur stood up.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he replied. “Maybe five minutes at the most. I just need t’ let it sit for a few minutes so the rosemary can spread its flavor.”

Nodding, Bilbo sighed; seeing movement, he turned his head and found Gandalf moving towards the fire to peer into it. “Well, there you are. I had expected you to be fast asleep after keeping watch all night.”

Gandalf leaned over, peering into the cauldron of custard. “We wizards are more akin to elves in that we needn’t rest nearly as much as humans, hobbits, and dwarves.” He looked over at Bilbo, giving him a small smile. Despite his words, however, Bilbo could see lines of exhaustion on the old man’s face. “Did you sleep well?”

“For the most part, yes. This cushion is almost as nice as my bed back home in Bag End,” he chuckled. His laughter faded ever so slightly as he looked at Baylee only to find that she still looked exhausted; looking at Fili, Kili, and Bombur, though, he saw that they, too, also looked beat. The last few days had been quite rough on them all…“Though, I would have enjoyed having a small pillow to rest my head on…but I’m not complaining.”

“You had a pillow,” Baylee told him, speaking loud enough that only he could hear her. “His name is Bofur.” She giggled as she was lightly nudged by her father.

“You shush, young lady,” he murmured scoldingly. Despite his tone, however, there was a bashful smile on his lips. “It’s bad enough he seems to be quite the cuddler…makes it difficult to sit up.” In all actuality, he didn’t find it the least bit bad.

Another giggle left her mouth as she tucked some hair behind her ear. “You looked quite happy, though, all snuggled up to him like that.” Both brows rose in surprise as she felt the cushion shift behind her and, feeling a pair of hands gently gather up her hair, her cheeks turned red. “G-good morning, Oakenshield.” She was startled by how casually he had sat down and started doing her hair—especially in a room filled with people.

Combined with the way he had held her hand during the night, it made her wonder if, perhaps, he _was_ flirting with her? She brushed the thought from her mind, though, and reminded herself that he was a dwarf and a _king_. He would never fall for a common hobbit lass.

“Good morning, Mouse-Lass, Bilbo,” Thorin said, beginning to comb through her hair.

It took a great deal of willpower for Bilbo to _not_ act like anything was out of the norm. “Morning…What were you and Gandalf off talking about?”

“How to best approach Beorn and ask him for his help,” he answered. He glanced over at the male hobbit; he had been half expecting him to jump up and start scolding him or stuttering about how he shouldn’t be touching his daughter’s hair like this. “We’ll do it after breakfast, when we’ve had a bit of time to go over the plan as well as pick up the area a bit.”

Bilbo nodded slowly in understanding, giving Thorin a wary look. “That’s good…It could do with a bit of tidying up in here.” While they hadn’t left the hall a complete mess, the area immediately around the hearth was strewn with various articles of clothing and the cushions did take up a good deal of space.

“With how big Beorn is, I wouldn’t want to get him upset,” Baylee chuckled. “Especially if he were to turn back into his bear form.”

At that, Thorin frowned and paused in his combing. “How do you know how large he is when he’s not a bear?”

Her cheeks pinkened. “I went out to the garden to get Bombur some rosemary and…well, I saw Beorn. I’m barely taller than his knees.”

“And just how do you know that bit?”

“…Well, while I was getting the rosemary, he _may_ have stepped into the garden to get himself some strawberries,” she said. “And he _may_ have been less than three feet from me when he did such.”

“You didn’t tell me _that_ part!” Bilbo cried, his eyes wide.

She smiled innocently. “When I originally told you about my Beorn sighting, I had just come back,” she explained. “And I had run back, mind you, which left me fairly out of breath. I was more focused on trying to breathe.”

Shaking his head, Bilbo let out a heavy sigh. “What am I to do with you?” he sighed. He moved to finally crawl off of the cushion, intent on getting himself some breakfast.

“He seems to be in a good mood this morning,” Thorin commented with a quiet chuckle.

“You should have seen him struggle to untangle himself from Bofur,” she smiled. “It was adorable.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Mouse-Lass.” Setting his comb aside, he began sectioning off her hair. “How did you sleep, by the way?”

She bit her lower lip slightly, feeling her cheeks begin to grow warm. “Much better than before the nightmare, though I daresay I could use a few more days of straight sleeping. I think we all could, for that matter.”

“I definitely agree with that.” Seeing that he had missed a few wisps of hair near the front of her ear, he used his fingers to gently pull them back into place. “And I’m happy to hear you slept better. With how bad you had been thrashing about…I was hoping you wouldn’t have any more nightmares.”

Closing her eyes, she let out a soft, content sigh. “Thank you, by the way,” she told him, her voice a bit softer. “For comforting me.”

“You seemed like you needed someone with you.” He pretended to brush back more wisps of hair, using it as a chance to gently brush his knuckles against her cheek. “If…it happens again and there’s no one awake…feel free to wake me. I promise you wouldn’t be bothering me.”

Her cheeks grew a touch warm and a gentle smile came to her lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smiled, starting to braid one of the sections of hair. As he did such, he looked around. Gloin, Oin, and Balin were starting to stir while Dori, Bofur, and Dwalin remained fast asleep. Normally, he would have had them all awake by that point, but after how mentally and physically exhausting the last few days had been, he thought he ought to let them sleep in a bit.

Glancing over at his nephews, his brow rose slightly. They were huddled close together, being none-too-subtle in their whisperings and snickers about him and Baylee. Fili caught sight of him watching and froze up, his eyes wide. He elbowed his brother in the ribs and both quickly returned to their task of fruit cutting.

Thorin shook his head, his attention returning to the braid he was working on. “Am I pulling too tight, by the way?” he asked after a moment.

“Not at all,” she assured him. “You’re being quite gentle as a matter of fact.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter even a single syllable, a loud yawn came from their right. Both looked over in time to see Bofur stretching out his limbs, his face scrunching up slightly. After a few seconds, his limbs and face relaxed; he tiredly opened his eyes before sitting up, his hat all askew.

“What time is it?” he asked, yawning again. He looked around blearily, glad to see that he wasn’t the only one who had still been asleep.

“It’s still morning,” Thorin assured him. “And breakfast only _just_ got finished, so you haven’t missed much.”

Bofur nodded in understanding before looking over at the pair; he had to blink to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “What’d Bombur make?” he asked, forcing himself to look away. Spotting Bilbo near the fire, where Bombur was filling a bowl of food for him, he looked for any signs of distress on his face. At the moment, he couldn’t see any, but something told him that he would be letting the hobbit vent to him again later in the day.

“A savory cheese custard,” Baylee answered. “With a side of sliced fruit.” She, too, was watching her father and wondering if he was alright. Given that Bombur was giving him a healthy portion of the custard, she knew he couldn’t have been _too_ upset. Bilbo couldn’t eat when he was truly upset.

“Ah, a dish that combines both o’ Bombur’s favorite foods,” Bofur chuckled. “Doesn’t surprise me he went an’ made _that_ for breakfast, t’ be honest. There’s plenty o’ milk, eggs, an’ cheese laying around.” Watching Bilbo come towards them, two bowls in hand, he smiled fondly.

“I see you’re finally awake,” Bilbo commented, also wearing a smile, though his was more amused. He held out one of the bowls to the dwarf, who eagerly took it.

“Ooh, thank you, lad,” he said, looking down into the bowl. He then took a good sniff of the food. “Is there rosemary in this?”

Bilbo nodded as he sat down closer to his daughter, since he intended to share the other bowl with her. “Yes. Baylee went and fetched some from the garden…And while she was out there, she got a peek at our host. Apparently, he’s enormous.”

Bofur, having just shoved a spoonful of custard into his mouth, cocked a brow and looked at them. Swallowing, he then asked, “How big are we talkin’? Normal human sized big or big like those giants in the mountain pass?”

“Neither,” Thorin answered. “From what the Mouse-Lass described, he’s about twelve and a half feet tall.”

“How do you figure that?” Bilbo questioned, his brow rising.

“It’s proportions. If this Beorn’s human form has the same proportions of an elf or human, then you would double the height of his knees to get the length of his legs. Then you double the height of his legs to get his upper half, as they’re roughly equal,” the king explained. “If he were to have proportions more similar to a dwarf, then he would a bit shorter, but being that we dwarves were crafted by Mahal rather than Eru, I highly doubt that’s the case.” He held one of the braids over Baylee’s shoulder. “Could you hold this, please?”

Taking the braid and holding it, Baylee saw that it was a four-strand braid. “But how did you figure out the twelve-foot-tall part? You don’t know how tall I am.”

At that, Bofur snorted. “Lass, it’s not hard t’ tell that you’re under four foot. Your dad here is just _barely_ over four feet tall and he’s a good seven or eight inches taller than you. Which puts you around three-foot-six or seven.”

“You must remember, dear, that even for a hobbit, you’re fairly small,” Bilbo chuckled, seeing the small pout on her lips. He glanced back at Thorin only to find him weaving smaller braids together to form large braids.

Bofur, too, did his best to subtly watch the king as he worked; only, he was keeping an eye out for a very specific kind of braid that dwarves did. It was one that almost all dwarves would put in their lover’s hair, signaling to other dwarves that they were taken. So far, however, he couldn’t see it—but, he also wasn’t at the best angle for spying on them. For all he knew, it was on the opposite side.

After a moment of silence which let him eat a few bites of custard (which was delicious), Bilbo cleared his throat. “S-so, what’s the plan for when we go to meet Beorn?”

“You, Gandalf, and Mouse-Lass will go out first. Gandalf will do the talking, of course…he’ll then give a signal, at which point we’re supposed to leave the house in pairs, with about five minutes between each pair coming out.”

“That’s a curious way to introduce ourselves,” Baylee commented.

He nodded in agreement. “He told me it would be best to show ourselves slowly so that we don’t bring about his anger.”

“Makes sense, given that Gandalf told us this fellow didn’t like dwarves much,” Bilbo said. He held out a spoonful of custard to Baylee, who gladly took it and started to take small bites from it. “I do hope he won’t be upset when he realizes that we already stayed one night in his house…” As Baylee handed the spoon back, he took it only to fill it again.

“I brought that up with Gandalf,” Thorin said. “He said that, should all go well, Beorn won’t mind much, _especially_ if we take care to leave it neat and tidy.”

Bofur snorted. “Neat an’ tidy for us dwarves…aye, that’s an achievable task,” he joked.

Thorin rolled his eyes, though he wore a smile. “Says the dwarf who had his room in Ered Luin more organized than the royal library.”

Both Bagginses looked quite surprised to hear this and they looked at Bofur, who wore a guilty, but cheeky, grin. “My home an’ someone else’s home are two entirely different places with entirely different sets o’ rules,” he chuckled. He suddenly went cross-eyed as Bilbo pointed a stern finger at him.

“You had best be neat and tidy when you come to Bag End,” he jokingly scolded. “You helped leave my house a mess once; I won’t have it happen again.”

“Oh, come now, Bilbo! I helped with the clean-up, didn’t I?” he laughed.

“Actually, for the most part, you stood off to the side, playing your whistle while Dwalin played his fiddle,” Baylee laughed. As Thorin reached for the braid she still held, she gave it to him. “Though, you did pass a _few_ dishes to Fili.” As she remembered that night, she smiled; it felt like it had taken place years ago when, in fact, only a few months had passed.

“I missed quite the party from the sounds of it,” Thorin commented. Finished with braiding her hair, he leaned back slightly to admire his handiwork; it was many smaller braids woven into and around a larger, singular braid. “There. Should our travels go well, you won’t need to worry about your hair for many days.”

Biting her lower lip, she pulled the braid over her shoulder so she could look at it. “Ooh, it’s so pretty!” she told him, running her fingers along the smaller braids. She was surprised by just how tiny some of them were; she would have never expected the large hands of a dwarf to do such fine work. Then, glancing over her shoulder at him with a shy smile and rosy cheeks, she said, “Thank you, Oakenshield.”

“You’re welcome, Mouse-Lass,” he replied, fondness in his voice.

Bilbo said nothing as he ate a bite of custard, but inwardly, he was making a note to sit down with Thorin at some point and have a chat about his daughter…

* * *

Nearly two hours later found the Bagginses walking alongside Gandalf as they traveled down a well-worn dirt path leading away from Beorn’s house. In the distance, they could hear sound of splitting wood quickly followed by the dull ‘thud’ of the axe hitting the chopping block. Soon, the three of them could see the top of Beorn’s head and the head of his axe as he raised it up.

“O-oh, bl-blessing,” Bilbo stammered, his eyes wide. “I-I know you said he was la-large, dear, but…”

“Quiet,” Gandalf gently scolded. “I do not know how good his hearing is in his mannish form and we do _not_ want to accidentally offer him insult.” He looked down at the two hobbits. “Now remember, stay behind me. Try not to let yourselves be seen for a few min—” He frowned as he looked down, finding that both hobbits were gone. Upon turning around, however, he found the pair already behind him, with Bilbo standing in front of Baylee. “Ah, good, you’re already back there,” he said, sounding just a touch exasperated.

As they continued to follow behind him, Bilbo reached back and took hold of Baylee’s hand. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he looked over her shoulder at her. “Everything’s going to be alright,” he quietly reassured her.

She managed a small smile and nodded. “I know, da’.”

Neither quite believed their words, though. As they came around the corner of a low hedge, they found themselves no less than fifty feet from the skin-changer. Gandalf was quiet for a moment, trying to come up with the best way in which to introduce themselves.

“Go-good morning!” he called out. When Beorn didn’t seem to hear him, he called out again, a bit louder. “Good morning!” Neither hobbit liked how nervous he sounded.

Beorn turned slightly, a thick brow rising as he saw the wizard. “Who are you?” His voice was deep and rumbling and filled with a mixture of annoyance and distrust.

“I’m Gandalf! Gandalf the Grey.”

Baylee flinched as Beorn fully faced Gandalf now, bringing his axe off the chopping block in favor of letting the axe head sit on the ground while his hands rested over the butt of the handle. “Never heard of him.” Then, much to the wizard’s chagrin, Beorn leaned over, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the two figures behind him. “And what’re these little fellows?” he demanded.

Motioning for them to come out of hiding, Gandalf introduced them. “They are Mister Baggins and his daughter, hobbits of a good family and _unimpeachable_ reputation,” he explained. “And I am a wizard. I have heard of you, even if you have not heard of me. But, perhaps, you _have_ heard of my good cousin, Radagast, who lives near the southern borders of Mirkwood?”

“Yes…not a bad fellow as wizards go, I believe. I used to see him now and again,” said Beorn. He watched the pair of hobbits carefully, one of his thick brows raised. “Well, now I know who you are, or who you _say_ you are. What do you want?”

“To tell you the truth, we have lost our luggage and nearly lost our way. We’re actually rather in need of help, or at least of advice. I may say we have had rather a bad time with goblins in the mountains.”

Once more his eyes narrowed and a bit of a sneer came to Beorn’s face. “Goblins?” he repeated gruffly. “What did you go near them for? A stupid thing to do.”

“Oh, I _absolutely_ agree!” Gandalf said, gesturing with his hand for emphasis. “But, you see, we did not mean to. They surprised us at night in a pass which we had to cross; we were coming out of the western lands over into these countries—it’s a rather long tale, to be honest.”

“Then you had better begin speaking and tell me some of it—if it won’t take all day, that is.”

A quiet sigh of relief left the trio’s mouths as the skin-changer seemed to be relaxing.

“You see, I was coming over the mountains with a friend or three,” Gandalf began, but before he could say anymore, Beorn interrupted.

“Or three? I can see only two, and little ones at that.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I did not want to bother you with a lot of us until I found out if you were busy. I will give a call, if I—” He stiffened as Beorn suddenly lifted his axe, a snarl on his face. As he turned, he saw that Balin and Dwalin had come around the hedge. They bowed low to the ground.

“One or three you meant, I see,” Beorn snapped. “But these aren’t hobbits—They’re _dwarves_.” He practically spat the word now.

“Ah…yes, as a matter of fact, several members of our group happen to be…ah…dwarves…”

Beorn glared down at him. “Do you call two ‘several’?” he growled.

“Well, no. As a matter of fact, there were more than two.”

“Where are they, then? Killed? Eaten? Gone home?” He _slightly_ lowered his axe.

Gandalf cleared his throat. “Well, no. They haven’t all come out; shy, I expect. You see, we are very much afraid that we are rather a lot for you to entertain.”

As if on cue, Dori and Ori came scrambling around the hedge. Beorn frowned again.

“Dori and Ori!” they stammered before bowing low. “At your service!”

“I don’t need your service,” Beorn snapped, making them jump. He looked back at Gandalf. “Go on with your story, wizard,” he commanded.

Nodding Gandalf quickly collected his thoughts. “Ah, yes, of course! Well, as we made our way through the mountains, the stone giants had come out to hurl stones at one another. We sought refuge in a cave, but while we slept, goblins came and snatched up the poor hobbits and our troop of dwarves.”

“A troop? What were you—a traveling circus? Or do you always call seven a ‘troop’?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” He let out a nervous laugh. “There are more than seven of us and, well…” Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the top of Nori’s hair behind the hedge. “Here are two more!” Right on cue, Nori and Oin came around the corner.

“Troop was right,” Beorn gruffed, lowering his ax entirely. “Now go on again!”

“Yes, of course. I had _not_ been grabbed, as I had stepped out of the cave to collect my thoughts,” he continued. Of course, he was making some of the story up, as he had _not_ been present when the others had been snatched. “But I did slip inside the crack before it closed. However, I managed to get myself lost, but after stumbling across Miss Baggins, who had also gotten separated from the group, we were able to find the main hall. There were so many goblins there, I thought to myself ‘what can thirteen do against so many’ and—”

“Thirteen? That’s the first time I’ve heard nine called thirteen—or have you still got some more dwarves hiding that haven’t yet come out?” By now, Beorn was sounding more exasperated than anything.

“Ah, yes, well, there are a few more of us and, in fact, I think I hear them coming.” Once more, he turned, expecting to see just two dwarves come around the corner. Instead he saw Bofur, Bifur, Gloin, Fili, Kili, and Bombur stumbling out from behind the hedge.

“Is that the last of them?” Beorn demanded. His brow rose as one more dwarf came out from behind the hedge: Thorin. Recognition filled the skin-changer’s eyes as he saw him. “Very well,” he said with a bit of a sigh. Leaning his axe against the chopping block, he picked up a vest from the ground and put it on. “I see I’m to be hosting an unexpected party…Come along then—everyone back inside. Gandalf, I fully expect you to tell me this tale properly once we’re sitting around the fire.” He started to walk up the path, passing by Gandalf and the hobbits without looking at them.

* * *

Soon enough, they were all once more gathered around the fire and Gandalf was recounting their tale to Beorn. The skin-changer walked around, serving everyone milk in large, wooden tankards—save for Baylee and Bilbo. He had managed to find a pair of smaller, clay cups for the two of them, though they were still large compared to the hobbits. By the time Gandalf had finished his tale, everyone had their own serving of milk and Beorn had dragged over an arm chair to sit in.

He was silent for many minutes, thinking over the story he had just been told and whether or not he should trust it to be true. At long last and after taking a drink from his own milk, he looked at Thorin and said, “So, you are the one they call ‘Oakenshield’. Tell me: Why is Azog hunting you?”

Thorin frowned. “You know of Azog? How?”

Beorn was quiet for another moment as he took another drink from his milk. “My people were the first to live in the mountains,” he said at length, “before the orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved.” He held up his wrist, showing the remnants of a shackle on his wrist. “Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him.”

“That’s horrible,” Baylee murmured.

“There are others like you?” asked Bilbo.

“Once, there were many…but now, there are only a few of us left.” He glanced around at the ragtag troop of dwarves, hobbits, and their wizard. “You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn?”

Gandalf nodded. “Before Durin’s Day falls, yes.”

“You are running out of time,” Beorn told them, his face more grim than before. “You intend to go through Mirkwood, do you not?”

Thorin nodded. “We do.”

“A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees.” He set aside his mug of milk. “There is an alliance between the orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there except in great need.”

Gandalf lightly shook his head. “We will be taking the elven road. That path is still safe.” He frowned as Beorn let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Safe?” he scoffed as he rose from his seat. “The Wood Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They’re less wise and more dangerous…but it matters not.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin questioned.

Beorn walked over to the window. “These lands are crawling with orcs,” he told them. “Their numbers are growing and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive.” Though he couldn’t see it, he knew the company was more than a little shocked. “I don’t like dwarves,” he continued, reached out and picking something up from the windowsill. “They’re greedy and blind…blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own.” As he turned around, Baylee could see that it was a tiny mouse he had picked up and was letting crawl over his hand. “But orcs I hate more. I will help you, but it will take time to gather the supplies you will need.”

“How long?” Thorin asked.

“It will take most of the day to get everything ready,” he answered, watching the mouse as it crawled over his hand, “but you will be able to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Will you need help?” Fili asked, wondering if assistance would mean they could leave sooner.

Beorn shook his head as he finally set the mouse down atop the dining table. “No. You do not know my house and my gardens as well as I do, so you would only slow things down.” He looked over the group, seeing varying degrees of weariness on their faces. “Spend the day resting and gathering your strength. This may be your last chance to do such for quite some time.”

And so, heeding Beorn’s advice, the dwarves and the hobbits had a small lunch of honey cakes and fruit pies before they brought the cushions back out. This time, they lined them up against the wall so as to stay out of Beorn’s way as he walked about. Much of the company then returned to bed for a midday nap while others wandered about outside, enjoying the summer sun.

Standing on her tiptoes, Baylee reached up and plucked a large strawberry off the bush. She wore a small, victorious grin before taking a bite out of it. It was sweeter than the strawberries of the Shire—sweet enough that she was sure only half the amount of sugar would be needed to turn it into jelly or pie.

“I would have thought you’d be sick o’ those by now, lass.”

She blinked, looking to her left to find Bofur walking towards her, a bit of smoke furling from his mouth as he smoked his pipe. A small chuckle left her mouth as she turned to face him. “I’m trying to get my fill of them before we leave. Yavanna only knows the next time I’ll be able to eat fresh berries.” Part of her felt a little jealous that he still had his pipe on him; she had lost hers back in Goblin Town.

Bofur chuckled, his brow rising slightly as he looked up at the strawberry bush. “Aye, I suppose that’s a good idea,” he agreed. “If only there were a blackberry bush or two ‘round her…then I’d be doin’ the same as you.”

“Oh, this is the perfect time of year for blackberries, too,” she said with a small frown. “If I were back in the Shire, I’d be making so many pies and pastries with them…”

“Sounds like I’m goin’ to really like livin’ in the Shire then,” he said with a small laugh. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he took a pull from his pipe. “…Speakin’ which, I’d like t’ talk with you about that.”

“Hm?” Her head tilted curiously. “About you coming to live with us?”

“Aye. I wanted t’ make sure—t’ make sure that it was alright with you.” He cleared his throat, sounding uncharacteristically nervous.

“Of course it is!” She let out a laugh, her brow rising. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

He took another pull from his pipe, letting the smoke leave his mouth a few seconds later. “Well, you’re Bilbo’s wee lassie—you’re the most important person in his life. I…I wanted t’ make sure we had your approval. I know that it’s not exactly a—a _normal_ relationship among hobbits, but I—” He blinked as he suddenly found a strawberry in his mouth.

“Bofur, you make my da’ happy,” Baylee told him, still holding her onto her own berry. “And, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t entirely sure my da’ would ever find himself a person who made him happy like you do. As far as I know, you’re the first person he’s ever showed romantic interest in.” She watched as he took the berry out of his mouth, having taken a bite from it. “You’ve been the one dwarf who’s always been confident in my da’ during this quest; everyone else has questioned his worth at least once. But you? Not once. That alone is more than enough to make you deserving of him.”

His cheeks turned a bit red and he quietly chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well…he’s a bit o’ an outsider like me, Bombur, an’ Bifur—an’ you, for that matter. I always thought we outsiders should stick together.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Do you say that because you’re Broadbeams while everyone else are Longbeards?”

He stared at her for a moment, more than a little surprised that she knew such a thing. Then, remembering how she enjoyed learning about their culture, he let out a laugh. “I suppose you learned that from one o’ the Durins?”

“Thorin told me,” she chuckled, nodding. “He told me about all the houses of the dwarves.”

“I thought you’re supposed to be callin’ him ‘Oakenshield?’?” he asked with a playful smile and a raised brow.

Her cheeks turned a bit red. “That’s only to _him_. To anyone else, I can call him by his name,” she said, her tone quite matter-of-fact. She took a bite of her strawberry and glanced away.

He quietly laughed as he watched her look away. “Y’know, he’s startin’ to fancy you…Thorin, I mean.” Her cheeks turned as red as the strawberry she ate, making him chuckle again.

“N-No, he’s not,” she stammered, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth. “We’re—we’re just friends. He’d never fancy me.” Despite her words, she thought back to the previous night and the tenderness in his smile as Thorin held her hand.

Maybe…maybe he _was_ starting to fancy her…?

Bofur’s brow rose. “Lass, I’m fairly certain even _you_ didn’t believe what you just said.” As she looked away again, he tilted his head ever so slightly. “Y’know, most lasses would be overjoyed t’ find out a _king_ fancies them…but something’s tellin’ me that it’s just leavin’ you a wee bit confused.”

“More than a wee bit, I’m afraid,” she sighed, rubbing the side of her neck. She closed her eyes for a moment, her shoulders slouching somewhat.

He gave her a pitying smile. Walking over to her, he said a hand on her shoulder and guided her over to the raised garden beds, where he sat her down on the wooden edge of the box. He then plopped down beside her. “Alright, lass. Start talkin’.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, making sure to pull her dress and petticoats over them to remain decent. “Well…first of all, I don’t see why Thorin of all people would fancy _me_. I-I’m just a hobbit! I’m not a warrior or a-a-a princess or anything that royalty looks for in a partner!”

“Ah, see, now that’s where you’re wrong,” Bofur gently countered. He found it rather adorable that she stuttered like her father when venting. “While royal humans an’ elves might want t’ make sure their children marry noble blood, we dwarves don’t care about that sort o’ thing. If a member o’ the royal family falls for a dwarf o’ far lower status? So be it. They’re not goin’ to waste their one chance at love just because their love isn’t o’ noble blood.”

“But sometimes, they’ll be given tests to prove their worthiness.”

A quiet laugh left his mouth. “I see you an’ Thorin have talked about marriage customs at some point.” He saw her cheeks grow rosy again when he gave her a playful wink. “Aye, sometimes a challenge will be issued, but they’re never meant t’ really dissuade the couple from joining. If anything, they’re issued in order t’ show what the potential spouse needs t’ work on t’ improve themselves.” He took a long, slow pull from his pipe.

She nodded slowly in understanding. “But…but regardless, I still don’t know why he’d fancy me. Not to mention, Halfast is waiting for me back in the Shire and—and—” She bit her lower lip again, and brought her braid over her shoulder, running her hands along it.

“An’ you don’t know which lad you fancy more?” She nodded. “Well…how does being around them make you feel?” As he spoke, smoke furled out from his lips.

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“What sorts o’ emotions do you feel when you’re around them? Do they make you happy or sad or anything o’ the sort?”

Baylee was quiet for many minutes as she pondered the question. It was such a simple question—one she hadn’t even thought of asking herself. “Well…When I’m around Halfast, I get quite shy and nervous. Like I don’t want to accidentally say or do something that’ll end up making me embarrass myself in front of him. But he also leaves my stomach feeling like it’s full of butterflies and it’s really easy for him to make me blush.

“And then there’s Thorin…When we first started the quest, I was nervous around him, yes, but now being around him feels like being around any other person—normal and natural. There are times when he makes my stomach flutter, but for the most part, around him, I feel—I feel safe as odd as that is to say.” She closed her eyes, continuing to run her fingers over her braid; she was starting to see why her father found it so easy to talk with Bofur. He was a very good listener and didn’t ask too many unnecessary questions. “I…I also find it easier to talk about certain things with him that I can’t bring myself to discuss with da’.”

Bofur cocked his head, looking at her curiously. “Oh? What sorts o’ things?”

She glanced up at him. “Do you promise not to tell da’?” she quietly asked. When he nodded, she let out a soft sigh. “One o’ the things that scares me most about returning home to the Shire is how I’ll potentially be ostracized. Not only did I go off on a great big adventure, but I learned how to fight and…and I came back with all these scars. Hobbits aren’t particularly fond of scars and proper young lasses are expected to have none—at least, none that are visible.”

“An’ you think that means Halfast won’t be fancyin’ you anymore?” She nodded. “Well, if that were t’ happen, he’s a fool.”

A soft laugh left her mouth. “That’s what Thorin said.” Letting go of her braid, she instead wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin atop her knees. “He said my scars show my courage and that they should be respected instead of frowned upon.” As the words left her mouth, a sense of realization slowly washed over her.

“He’s right. But…that’s also the mindset o’ us dwarves are raised with. You hobbits are far more peaceful than our lot an’ get into far fewer scraps than us.” He chuckled quietly and shook his head. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he saw that her gaze was fixed on the berry bush across from them. “For what it’s worth, though, lass…If I had t’ pick between two people an’ one of them left me feelin’ safe an’ like I could tell them anything while the other left me worryin’ about whether or not they’d leave me because o’ some scars, I’d go for the one who left me feelin’ safe.”

There was a small smile on her lips as she looked at him. “Yes…I believe I’ve come to the same conclusion.” The smile then faded from her face as it turned into a frown. “…I don’t think da’s going to be very happy about this, though.”

“No, he’s not,” Bofur agreed, “but he’s not going t’ stop you if things between you an’ Thorin get serious. Not that he’d be able to, t’ be honest.” He quietly chuckled. “If you do turn out t’ be Thorin’s One, then there won’t be anything in this world that’ll be able t’ keep the two o’ you apart.” He took a last pull of his pipe before gently tapping it against the bottom of the flowerbox.

“Why’s that?” she asked, her brows furrowing slightly.

“When we find our One, we get protective over them. Other races may think it’s overly so, but when we dwarves fall in love, it’s for life. If our lover dies young, then we spend the rest o’ our lives mourning their loss while trying t’ continue on without them.” Tucking his pipe away inside his vest, he let out a sigh and looked up at the cloudless sky. “Very rarely, though, Mahal will grant a dwarf what’s called a Second Chance. It’s exactly what it sounds like: A second chance at falling in love.”

She tilted her head, listening with great curiosity. “What does a dwarf have to do in order to earn such an honor?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “No one knows. Some say the lover has t’ be taken from their spouse in an incredibly tragic way, others say that the one who died had to be with child when they passed…Between you an’ me, though, lass? I don’t think it’s Mahal who grants us the Second Chance.”

“Then who do you think it is? Yavanna?”

“Either Yavanna or Nienna,” he said with a small nod.

“I can see why Yavanna would, being that she’s Mahal’s wife, but Nienna…?”

“Aye. She’s not just the Vala of mourning, but also pity an’ courage, remember. An’ what greater pity can you give a heartbroken dwarf than t’ give them the courage t’ love again?”

“…I never thought of her in such a way,” Baylee admitted. “Of course, we hobbits respect her, but she’s seen more as a Vala who assists the dead rather than the living. And hobbits think anything having to do with death is eerie, so not many talk about her.”

He nodded in understanding. “I’m guessing you lot mostly pay respects t’ Yavanna?” he chuckled.

“Yavanna, Vána, and Nessa, actually.”

“Nessa? Now that’s a surprise. Why her?”

“She’s the Dancer and hobbits love to dance,” she chuckled. “We may not be even a quarter as swift as her, but if music starts to play and drink starts flowing, hobbits can’t help but start dancing.” She sat upright again and let her legs dangle over the edge of the box. “When you move into Bag End, you’ll come to learn that hobbits know how to have just as much fun as you dwarves.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will, lass,” he laughed, his brow rising. “I’m goin’ t’ have a lot t’ learn when this adventure’s all over, I’m certain o’ that.”


	18. Chapter 18

The sun had only just risen when the company found themselves readying fourteen ponies. After spending the previous day lazing about Beorn’s home and then getting another night’s worth of sleep, they found themselves quite reenergized and eager to continue on with their quest. They also discovered that Beorn had packed them a great deal of food, much of it consisting of nuts, dried berries, twice-baked honey cakes, and even pots of honey. All this should last them until they came out the other side of Mirkwood—maybe even farther. He had also packed them bows and arrows to help keep any enemies they may come across at a distance.

“Until you reach the forest, you will not have trouble finding water,” he told them as they finished loading the ponies with their bags. “But once you reach the forest, be sure to fill your skins! Water is not easy to find there, nor is food. The time is not yet come for nuts and nuts are about all that grows within that forest that are fit for consumption. In there, the wild things are dark, queer, and savage and I doubt very much whether anything you find in Mirkwood will be wholesome to eat or to drink. There is one stream in there, I know, that is black and strong which crosses the path: You should neither drink of it or bathe in it, for I have heard that it carries a spell of great drowsiness and forgetfulness. But most importantly, you must _not_ stray from the path, no matter what.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Baylee murmured, standing on her tiptoes as she tied a bag of honey cakes into place on the back of the pony she and Bilbo would be sharing. “I already didn’t like the sound of the place when I learned that it’s now called ‘Mirkwood’ instead of ‘Greenwood’.”

Bilbo nodded in agreement. “Let’s hope getting through the forest doesn’t take us too long,” he sighed. Turning his head slightly, he stole a look over at Bofur, who was lightly smacking Bombur’s hand as he tried to steal one of the twice-baked honey cakes from his pony. A small chuckle left his mouth and he shook his head.

“I do not advise you to take the forest path,” Beorn said, speaking more to Thorin and Gandalf now. “The orcs have started to use that road quite often and I have heard that its eastern gate has fallen into disrepair—so much so that it is nearly impassable. It would also leave you hundreds of miles south of your destination.”

Thorin frowned. “Then how are we to cross the forest? That’s the only road through it.”

“This is another road,” Gandalf told him, “one that is not nearly as well known. It will take us practically straight towards the Lonely Mountain.”

Beorn nodded in agreement. “It will be a few days ride to reach the gate, but the orcs do not know of it, therefore they will be watching the Forest Road more closely than anything. But don’t let that fool you into a false sense of security: There are patrols of warg riders who will come this far north occasionally, though they dare not come near my house.” He looked down at the pony nearest to him—the one that Thorin was to ride—and gently ran his enormous hand down its mane. “My ponies will carry you without rest if need be,” he then said, “though I must ask that you set them loose once you reach the forest.”

“I promise they will be set free,” Thorin told him, giving the skin-changer a solemn nod. “I thank you again for your help, Beorn. It is most appreciated.”

“As I told you: I do not like dwarves, but I like orcs even less. Whatever I can do to help bring an end to the terror those foul creatures bring, I will do it.” Looking past Thorin and Gandalf, his brow rose; Bilbo was struggling to get onto his pony. It was taller than the ponies they had used prior to Rivendell, but even those he hadn’t been too good at mounting.

Shaking his head slightly, Beorn walked over and, plucking Bilbo up by the back of his jacket, set him atop the pony’s back. “When you stop for the night, I suggest you try to find a rock or stump to use as your ladder,” he told him, amusement on his lips as he saw the hobbit’s cheeks reddening.

“Y-yes, I’ll be sure to do that, thank you,” Bilbo replied, doing his best to not sound as embarrassed as he felt. Holding onto the saddle, he then leaned over, offering his hand to Baylee.

Before she could grab hold of it, however, Beorn picked her up as well—though, he was gentler with her. “I find it curious that one so small has chosen to go on such an adventure,” he said, setting her down sidesaddle. “You are no bigger than a child who has just learned to walk…”

Like her father, Baylee’s cheeks turned bright red as she was lifted and set down. “The group needed a Mouse-Lass and I was the only one small enough to work,” she replied.

Beorn’s brow rose and he smiled in amusement. “You have been given an apt title then, little Mouse-Lass.” He reached down with his large hand and gently patted her head as if she were an actual mouse before turning and heading towards the front gate. “Go now while you still have plenty of light,” he told the group. “Your hunters are not far behind and you will want to put as much distance between you as you can.”

After thanking him once more for his help, the dwarves, hobbits, and wizard rode off. Gandalf, knowing the road that Beorn had spoken of, took the lead. At first, no one spoke—they were too scared of the possibility of being caught by Azog and his riders. But as the day wore on and no sign of their enemies could be seen, the company started to relax a bit. By the time they stopped for the evening, they were all in fairly good spirits.

“Do not let yourselves grow too comfortable,” Gandalf warned as they sat around the campfire that night. It was small and had been built into the ground so as to shed as little light as possible. “Our enemies are out there somewhere and if they were to find us because someone sang or laughed too loud would be a shame.”

As she nibbled some twice-baked honey cake, Baylee glanced around at the group. Despite Gandalf’s warning, they were all smiles and laughing quietly amongst themselves. She found that Bilbo and Bofur had chosen to sit a little way away from the group; her father was curled up in Bofur’s lap, his eyes shut as they quietly talked. Once more she found her feeling both happy for them and envious of them.

‘Don’t get jealous of your own da’, Baylee,’ she mentally scolded herself. ‘Between the two of you, he’s far more deserving of cuddles.’ She took one last bite of the cake before standing up to go put the rest of it—a good three quarters of it—back in the bag. Brushing the crumbs off her dress, she glanced over her shoulder; no one had seemed to notice her get up and walk over to the ponies. ‘Just as well,’ she thought, walking a little way further from the group. ‘Some alone time would be nice. I haven’t gotten much of that lately.’

Finding a small boulder to sit on, she brought her knees to her chest and looked up at the cloudless night sky. The moon was almost full, bathing the lands in its cool light. A small smile came to her lips and she started to search the sky for any familiar constellations, though she had little hope of finding one. They were too far east for her to recognize anything in the sky aside from the moon—but even that somehow seemed different.

“Takin’ watch already, are you?”

She blinked, looking over her shoulder only to find Fili coming towards her. “Not quite. Just enjoying some quiet,” she replied, turning her attention back to the sky. “It’s been awhile since I could stargaze like this.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the boulder. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a stargazer, t’ be honest.”

“It’s a recently acquired hobby.”

A soft laugh left his mouth. “I can understand that.” Then, glancing at her, he asked, “So…when did you an’ my uncle get together?” He saw her cheeks turn bright red, which only made him chuckle.

“We-we’re not ‘together’,” she stammered, pulling her braid over her shoulder and running her fingers along it. “…If I may be honest, I don’t really know _what_ we are.”

“He braided your hair in front of _everyone_. That’s as good as him staking his claim on you.”

Her brows furrowed in slight confusion. “I thought braiding was only a form of flirtation?”

Fili nodded. “It is,” he said, “but it’s also used t’ tell other dwarves t’ back off.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of that…” she murmured. “Though…how are you supposed to tell that the braids were done in a flirtatious manner? They look like normal braids to me.”

He reached over to grab her braid, but paused halfway. “May I touch your hair?” he asked and, when she nodded, he picked up her braid. “Do you see how the individual plaits aren’t as long as normal? They’re a wee bit short an’ chubby?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking how they look like cute little hearts.” A look of realization then came over her face. “Oh…”

An amused smile appeared on his lips as he put her braid back down. “Aye, that’s how we can tell. An’ with how many uncle put in your hair…” He lightly shook his head and he let out a soft laugh. “Makes me wonder if I should start calling you ‘Auntie Baylee’.”

Her eyes shot open and her face grew as red as a strawberry. “N-now, don’t you go thinking _that_ far ahead!” she squeaked. “W-we haven’t—we haven’t even really _talked_ about any of-of-of _this_ , let alone decided we wo-would get married!”

In an effort to keep himself from bursting out laughing, Fili instead snorted loudly. “Y-you are so easy t’ get flustered!” he wheezed, his amusement all too evident in his voice. After a few more moments of holding in his laughter, he finally managed a triumphant sigh. “You don’t have t’ hide it, you know—everyone already knows you’re going t’ end up as mine an’ Kili’s aunt.”

She pursed her lips in a small pout. “We-well, everyone’s th-thinking _much_ too far into the future,” she said, a bit of a scolding tone to her voice. “Like I said, we haven’t—we haven’t even talked about anything. It’s been _just_ him braiding my hair and us exchanging the occasional, semi-flirty look.”

“Are you serious?” His laughter faded and a rather serious expression came to his face.

“Why would I lie about something like this?” she questioned, her brow rising. Her cheeks were starting to cool off, much to her relief. “T-to be honest, I don’t think either of us really even realized we fancied one another until just a few days ago,” she continued, sighing. Her fingers went back to running over her braid and she looked out at the horizon. “It…might be for the best that we haven’t discussed anything yet, though. We’re still on a dangerous quest—one that _he’s_ the leader of. I…I wouldn’t want him to get distracted.”

Fili’s brow rose, though she couldn’t see it. “Distracted?” he repeated. “Baylee, my uncle’s been wanting t’ reclaim Erebor since the moment Smaug took over. Even if you are his One, he’s not goin’ t’ let himself lose focus on getting that mountain back.” Shaking his head, he quietly chuckled and looked to the east. “Though, we’ll have to be careful once we’re in Mirkwood. We wouldn’t want t’ run into any o’ the elves in there.”

“Why’s that?” She, too, looked eastwards only to frown as she saw a large, black mass moving slowly along the horizon. ‘Is that Beorn?’ she thought. ‘I hope so…I wouldn’t want something unfriendly of that size to stumble upon us during the night…’

“It was the king o’ Mirkwood who abandoned Erebor in its time o’ need,” he explained. “He helped Dale and its survivors, but not Erebor.” A small sigh left his mouth; he remembered how sad his mother and uncles got whenever they spoke of just how many lives were lost that day and in the subsequent weeks.

Baylee frowned, her brows furrowing. “So _that’s_ why Thorin hates elves so much,” she murmured, more to herself than to Fili. “Why didn’t he help them?”

“No one’s quite sure why, but uncle believes it was because he had a quarrel with my great grandfather over some jewels.” He brushed some of his hair behind his ear. “You would think the two kings could set aside their differences long enough t’ slay a dragon an’ save the majority o’ people from two separate city-states, but no one ever claimed that elves an’ dwarves weren’t stubborn.”

She nodded slowly in agreement. “I take it that Thorin will be pushing us to get through Mirkwood as quick as possible, then?”

He shrugged. “More than likely. But from what the maps say, we have over two hundred miles to cover in order t’ reach the other side o’ the forest. An’ from there, another fifty or so miles to reach the mountain.”

“Over two hundred miles?” Her nose scrunched up slightly. “I know we’ve covered more than triple that amount already, but we had ponies for a good portion of that and then eagles for another portion.”

“At least we’ll be going through a forest,” he chuckled, his brow rising as he glanced at her. “Hobbits like forests, don’t they?”

“It depends on the forest, to be honest. There are lovely forests back home where the trees are green and the sun filters down through them…but there are also dark, scary forests that no one dares go near because they’re awake and try to harm people.”

Fili couldn’t help but snort at that. “Forests can’t come be ‘awake’, Baylee. They’re just trees.”

She pursed her lips. “I’ll have you know, the Old Forest in Buckland is very much awake!” she told him. “There are many accounts of the trees moving when there was no wind and the trees whispering to one another. Not to mention how often they try to lead travelers astray.”

His brow was raised and he wore an amused smile—it was clear he didn’t believe her. “I’ll take your word for it,” he told her, chuckling. “But I highly doubt Mirkwood’s going to be ‘awake’. If elves live there, then it can’t be _too_ bad o’ a place.”

“Beorn told us that it’s not a very pleasant forest,” she reminded him. “Remember? He warned us that the only thing that’s edible in there are nuts, that there is a magic river we need to avoid, and that we mustn’t stray from the path, no matter the reason.”

His amusement faded slightly. “That’s right…he did tell us all o’ that, didn’t he?”

She gave him a long look. “He wouldn’t have given us so many bows and arrows if the forest was a safe place to be.”

He nodded, letting out a small sigh. “At least it’ll still be safer than being out in the open like this. I don’t like the idea of possibly gettin’ caught by Azog and his riders all because we don’t have any shelter out here.”

“Good thing we’ll be at the forest soon enough, then,” she said, feeling a yawn come on. A few seconds later, she covered her mouth as the yawn arrived.

Seeing her yawn made Fili yawn in turn. “We should probably get some rest,” he sighed. “We’re going to have another long day of riding tomorrow.”

“That is a good idea,” she agreed. Putting her hair back over her shoulder, she slid off the rock only to quietly squeak as she nearly lost her balance on the uneven ground. From what she had seen, it looked even enough, but upon setting her feet down, she found that it very much wasn’t the case.

“You alright?” he asked, looking at her with concern.

“Y-yes, sorry. The ground’s a bit uneven,” she told him. “I’m fine, though. I promise.” After brushing the back of her dress off (not that it was of any use, since the majority of it was missing and her petticoats liked to let dirt and bits of moss cling to them), she followed Fili back towards the group. Normally, she would tell her father goodnight before turning in, but when she saw that both he and Bofur looked to already be fast asleep by then, she decided against it.

She went over to the spot where she had laid out her bedroll; it still baffled her as to why Beorn had had so many normal-sized bedrolls when he was, most certainly, _not_ normal sized. Regardless, she was thankful and enjoyed the little bit of cushion from the earth. She wrapped herself up in the blanket before curling up in a little ball and closing her eyes.

‘Fili and Kili better not start calling me Auntie Baylee,’ she thought.

As she drifted off, she thought she could hear someone laying down beside her, but before she could even contemplate turning around to look, sleep had ensnared her in its grasp.

* * *

Two days later, the group approached the forest. Even from afar, they could tell that this forest was not a friendly place: It was dark and, from what they could see, no birds flew overtop the trees. As they drew nearer, they could see enormous trees, their trunks twisted and gnarled in their ancient age. Ivy clung to them and lichen hung from their branches, slowly strangling out what little life was left in them.

Soon, they could see a gap in the trees—it was a sort of natural archway made by two enormous, leafless trees. Looking down the path, they could see that it was going to be a dark, gloomy trek through the forest.

“Well, here is Mirkwood, the greatest of all the northern forests!” Gandalf said as the dwarves and hobbits started to dismount the ponies. Getting only quiet grumbles in reply, his brow rose. “I hope you like the look of it,” he added with a bit of sarcasm. “Now, you must send back these borrowed ponies.”

“Do we really have to?” Dori questioned, his silver brows furrowing. “We’d certainly get through the forest much quicker with them.” He shrank back somewhat as Gandalf threw him a scolding look.

“Don’t be foolish! Beorn is not as far off as you seem to think and, if you don’t want to see his disagreeable side again, you had better keep your promises to him!” He shook his head, sighing. “Our hobbits have keener eyes than yours, for they have noticed the great bear going along with us or sitting far off in the night, watching our camps! Not just to guard you and guide you, but to also watch over his ponies. He loves his animals as if they were his children and you should feel honored that he was willing to let you ride them at all!”

“And what about the horse, then?” Thorin questioned, his brow rising. “You haven’t said a word about sending _that_ back.”

“I haven’t, because I do not intend to send it back just yet.”

“What about _your_ promise then?” Dwalin growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I will look after that,” Gandalf told replied sharply. “I am not sending the horse back because I am intending to ride it!”

“Y-You’re not coming with us?” Bilbo squeaked, his eyes wide.

The wizard shook his head again, making his grey hair sway about his shoulders. “I wouldn’t do this unless I had to,” he said. “I have pressing business away south and I am already late because I’ve been watching over the lot of you.” With a small sigh, he turned his gaze southwards for a moment before looking directly at Thorin. “I’ll be waiting for you on the Outlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe. Do _not_ enter that mountain without me.”

He then looked at the rest of the group, looking each member over in turn. “This is not the Greenwood of old,” he told them. “The air is heavy with illusion and it will seek to trick your mind and guide you away from the path. No matter what, do _not_ leave the path! If you do, then the odds are a thousand to one you will never be seen again. Now, goodbye! I _will_ see you again before your quest has reached its end.”

Before anyone could delay him further, he spurred his horse and rode to the south.

A heavy sigh left Bilbo’s mouth and he slouched forward. “What sort of business does he have that’s more pressing than helping us get through this forest?” he grumbled. Standing upright once more, he resumed unpacking his and Baylee’s pony.

“Hard to say,” Baylee sighed, standing on her tiptoes as she helped unpack the pony. “He is a wizard after all, so it could really be anything.” She quietly grunted as she lifted a particularly heavy bag off of the pony. ‘I wonder if this one contains the jars of honey?’ she thought, carrying it over to the pile of supplies.

Once everything had been unloaded, the ponies were turned loose; the group watched as they trotted off. Off in the distance, they could saw a large black mass dart out from the shadows of the forest, following the ponies from afar.

In an unconscious effort to delay entering the forest for as long as possible, the group then spent nearly half an hour evenly dividing the supplies up between them all. Bilbo wasn’t too much of a fan of this, as it meant he and Baylee would have to carry more weight than they were used to.

“Don’t worry, laddie,” Balin told him. He took one of the water skins that were being doled out by Fili and Kili. “We’ll all be wishing they were heavier soon enough.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” the hobbit mumbled as he shifted his pack again, trying to get the straps to rest comfortably on his shoulders.

Bofur leaned over, kissing his temple. “Cheer up, Bilbo. We’ll be on the other side o’ this forest soon enough,” he said. He thanked Kili as the prince handed him a freshly-filled waterskin. Tucking it away in his pack, he then shouldered the pack with a small grunt. “Anyway, you should be happy: You’re not carryin’ nearly as much as Dori or Dwalin.” Those two had offered to take the bags of honey pots, which were heavier than all the rest.

Another sigh left Bilbo’s mouth, betraying the fact that he didn’t find this to be _too_ reassuring. “I suppose you’re right,” he admitted. “I guess I just don’t like the thought of us actually going through this forest.” He looked up at the trees, his stomach churning slightly at the sight of them. Everything about Mirkwood just looked and felt _wrong_. “It feels—it feels sick. As if a…a disease lies upon it. I wish there were another way around.” He looked down in confusion as someone took his hand only to find that it had been Baylee.

“It’s going to be alright, da’,” she told him, giving his hand a small squeeze. “It can’t be any worse than the Old Forest back in the Shire, right? These trees aren’t about to wake up and try to hurt us.”

A fond smile came to his lips as he gave her hand a small squeeze in return. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “That forest feels far worse than this one, but it’s always seemed to be more—more _angry_.”

Bofur looked at the two of them, his brow raised slightly. “What’re you talking about? Forests don’t get angry,” he told them, a bit of amusement in his voice. “Forests are just trees an’ trees are, well…Trees.” He shrugged.

“Fili said the same thing a few nights ago,” Baylee chuckled. She then playfully waved her finger at him in a scolding manner. “Just you wait until we go back to the Shire—we’ll have to go past the Old Forest and then you’ll see just how angry and awake that forest is!”

Bilbo laughed, his brow rising as well. “She’s right, you know,” he told Bofur. “Younger forests may not be awake, but ancient ones like the Old Forest and this place…they’re definitely awake. I’m not sure how or why, but I think it may be because they were here before all other life.”

“That could be,” Bofur said, moving to take Bilbo’s other hand. By this point, the rest of the group had shouldered their packs and were begrudgingly getting ready to enter the forest. From what he had seen, the path would quickly grow dark and he didn’t want to lose track of his beau.

Unable to find any other reasons to delay the inevitable, the company gathered their courage and started their trek into the forest. For the most part, they walked in single file; not much was said between them. Before long, the entrance to the forest was barely a bright speck behind them and they were engulfed in darkness.

As their eyes grew used to the dimness, they found that it wasn’t _entirely_ lightless under the trees: There was a sort of greenish glow about the forest, allowing them to see a few yards in all directions, though they quickly learned to keep their eyes on the path due to how unpleasant the forest looked. Once in a while, they spotted the rare sliver of sunlight that had managed to find its way down from the ancient boughs above them, though the further the company walked, the number of sunbeams grew less and less.

The air, too, was utterly still. There was no breath of wind, making it possible for them to hear all sorts of noises around them. Scraping, crunching, scuttling, grunting—all were sounds that reached their ears, making them feel even more uneasy. It also left the air feeling heavy and warm; it almost felt like they were being smothered.

By far, one of the worst parts of journeying through that wretched forest was when night came. It grew to be so dark, they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces—even when they were just barely an inch away. The first few nights, they solved this by lighting a watch fire, but that in itself quickly because a nuisance. Not only did it attracted enormous moths and even larger bats that feasted on the moths, but the light also reflected off of hundreds of eyes that peered out from the shadows.

“They’re most definitely insect eyes,” Bilbo murmured on their fifth night in the forest. “There were no pupils—they were just solid, glossy orbs.” He took a small nibble from one of the honey cakes, though he didn’t feel particularly hungry.

“Don’t tell us that!” Dori quietly whined from beside him. Being too nervous to sleep apart, the group decided that it would be safest to sleep huddled together; it was a bit of an awkward arrangement, but it left them feeling safer. “After seein’ those moths, I don’t want to even begin to think about what other sorts o’ insects are out there.”

“I hope there aren’t any spiders,” Baylee sighed. Like her father, she didn’t have much of an appetite and she was finding it almost a chore to chew even a small bit of dried fruit.

“So long as we stick t’ the path, we’ll be fine,” Balin assured them all. “Whatever evil lies within these woods seems t’ be staying clear o’ the path.”

Though no one could see it, Gloin nodded. “Aye. An’ the path has been, thankfully, easy enough t’ follow thus far. If we keep up this same pace, then it shouldn’t be more than two weeks until we reach the other side.”

“ _Two weeks_?! That’s much too long for us t’ be stuck in this place,” Nori argued. “Especially when we’ve been told there aren’t many places t’ find water in here. Not only are we goin’ to have to ration the food, but we’re also going t’ have t’ severely ration our drink as well!”

“Do you hear that, Bombur?” Dwalin spoke. “No more snacking! We need our food t’ last.”

“We could send the hobbits off to look for water at some point,” Bombur argued, a large, unseen pout on his face.

“D-Didn’t you hear Beorn and Gandalf!?” Baylee squeaked. “If we stray from the path, there’s a chance we may never find it again!”

“No one will be leaving the path,” Thorin spoke. “We will continue going as far as we can while we have the light. We can only hope that our supplies will last us.”

“…What if we try running?” Kili suggested. He frowned as the group collectively groaned at the idea. “It’ll get us _much_ farther than just walking—we’ve learned that twice now!”

“No more running!” Gloin argued. “It’ll only make us drink more water an’ feel more tired by the end o’ the day. And we’ll be needin’ our strength come the time we get t’ the other side o’ the forest!”

As the others continued to argue about the best course of action and how to best preserve their food and water supplies, Baylee took another nibble of her honey cake before tucking it away into her pocket for later. ‘I hope everything goes alright,’ she thought, closing her eyes. ‘There surely has to be some sort of fresh water source in this place—it wouldn’t be much of a forest if there wasn’t.’

Then, remembering her father’s words about how the eyes he had seen belonged to insects, she shuddered. ‘Yavanna help me if there are spiders out there…I can handle any other sort of bug, whether they’re large or small, but if there are giant spiders out there…’ She shook her head and, pulling the blanket closer to her chin, she curled up into as small a ball as possible.

* * *

For ten more days, the company ventured forward without incident. Their already-low spirits were quickly dropping even more, however, as their supply of food began to dwindle. Even worse, the further they traveled into the forest, the stranger they began to feel.

It started with their heads feeling heavy as if they were exhausted. Walking in a straight line became hard; they would often stumble and nearly knock over the person in front of them. More than once, Bilbo and Baylee _were_ knocked over only to be picked back up again with muttered apologies. With only one working eye, Baylee stumbled more than the others and she soon had scraped up palms and knees from all the times she fell.

Then came the bouts of confusion. At different times, the members of the company would forget where they were and try to stray from the path or they would argue with someone about a conflict that they had imagined. More than once in a day, a pair would have to be physically separated lest their argument come to blows.

* * *

On the eleventh day, they saw the webs.

It was Ori who first spotted them, as he had been the first to awaken come morning. As he opened his eyes and blinked away the sleep, he thought he could see ropes strung across the trees on either side of the path. At first, this elated him, as he thought it meant they were getting close to either the edge of the forest or some sort of civilization. But when he rubbed away the remnants of his slumber, he came to realize that they weren’t ropes at all, but lengths of spider silk as thick as his finger.

His panicked yelping quickly woke the others, who were just as startled to see the webs. They were thankfully, however, to find that the strands of spider silk didn’t stretch across the pathway; in fact, the webs that they could see were set back a few yards from the path.

“Even better a reason for us t’ not stray from the road,” Gloin stated as he haphazardly rolled up his bedroll. “There must be some sort o’ spell protecting it from those foul creatures.”

“Whatever the reason, I’m just glad we didn’t get cocooned up durin’ the night,” Bofur grumbled. He broke a honey cake in half and then half again before offering a quarter to Bilbo.

Gladly taking the honey cake, Bilbo took a small nibble from it. “Y-yes, I agree. Ending up as food for spiders would be a poor way to end this adventure…” Looking at his daughter, he frowned; she was pale and kept her head tilted down. ‘Oh dear…that’s right. She’s terrified of spiders,’ he thought. Walking over to her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze.

“It’ll be a better fate than starving to death,” Bombur pouted. With how severe their rationing had become, famished wasn’t even close to how hungry he felt. “These blasted trees just keep goin’ on an’ on an’ on! When will we reach the end o’ them? _Will_ we reach the end o’ them?!”

“Calm down, Bombur,” Thorin said, his voice stern. “Now isn’t the time to fall into hysterics.” He looked down at the path, where he had dug an arrow into the ground, pointing them in the direction they needed to go. To him, it looked as if the path began to slope downwards, though it was hard to tell in the eerie light of the forest. The longer he stared, though, the more it started to feel like he was sinking into the ground; he closed his eyes and shook his head, clearing both his mind and his body of the sensation.

“We need to find water soon,” Balin sighed. “An’ we need to try t’ shoot down some of the squirrels we’ve been seein’. Otherwise, we can’t go on for more than a few days.”

“He’s right, uncle,” Fili said, stumbling his way over to Thorin. “Even with how careful I’ve been, my waterskin’s nearly empty. An’ these honey cakes don’t make things any better, given how dry they are.”

Thorin turned around and looked at his companions; barely any of them could walk in a straight line thanks to whatever the forest was doing to their minds. “I want everyone to have their bows out and at the ready,” he then ordered. “If you see any squirrels, shoot them. Even if we have to leave the path to fetch them.”

* * *

It was around noon the next day (at least, they thought it was noon) that they ran into an enormous problem. The group had finally reached the river that Beorn had spoken of; at the sight of it, Bifur started to rush forward in order to get himself a drink, but Dwalin and Bofur had to hold him back.

“We can’t drink that, Bifur!” Bofur told him. “Remember what Beorn said? The water’s o’ this river are cursed.”

Bifur grumbled, saying some very choice words in Khuzdul about the river.

“We can’t get across!” Dori cried. He pointed at the remains of what had once been a bridge, but it now lay in crumbled ruins. “The bridge is gone! There’s no way for us t’ cross!”

“What’re we supposed t’ do now!?” Dwalin growled. “We don’t have enough food or water t’ turn back, but we also can’t keep goin’ forward! Not unless we want t’ get put under some spell.”

Fili scratched his bread. “We could have the hobbits carry a rope across,” he told them. “They’re light enough—I’m sure they can climb their way across through the trees without any branches breakin’.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and partially hid himself behind Bofur. “Wh-what!? Why not just tie the rope to an arrow and shoot it across? That seems like it’d be a safer option!”

“Because an arrow stuck in a tree wouldn’t be able to hold _any_ of our weights,” Gloin answered.

“Except the Mouse-Lass’s,” said Nori. “She’s lighter ‘n a feather—surely an arrow with some rope on it could support her?” He looked over at Baylee in time to see her disappear behind Dwalin.

“We can’t send her across like that!” Balin argued. “What if the arrow were t’ break? The poor thing would end up in the drink an’ be cursed because o’ us.”

“Everyone, look!” Kili pipped up. “On the other side—there’s a boat!”

“A boat?” Thorin questioned, his brows furrowed. “Are you positive, Kili?”

He nodded. “Bilbo, come over here and tell me I’m not seein’ things.”

Doing as he was told, Bilbo stepped forward until he stood beside the prince. There was indeed a boat across the river from them; it looked as if it were pulled up onto the shore to avoid being swept away. “He’s right,” he told the others. “There _is_ a boat. But how are we to get it over here? And even if we _do_ get it over, we don’t know how good of condition it’s in.”

“We can shoot an arrow with some rope into it,” Dwalin suggested, “an’ then we can pull it back.”

“But, if it’s safe enough to use, how are we supposed t’ get back t’ the other side? I can’t see any oars,” Kili said.

“We’ll send one of the hobbits over with some rope,” Thorin told them. “They’ll tie their end to a tree and we’ll tie ours to another tree. If the boat is sturdy enough, we can then ferry ourselves back and forth with the rope to guide us.”

“An’ if it’s not sturdy enough?” Oin questioned.

“Then we climb over on the rope, one by one so as to not break it.”

Swallowing hard, Bilbo looked over at Baylee as the others started seeing who had the longest length of rope. She had stepped out of her hiding spot behind Dwalin and was anxiously stroking one of her braids near the edge of the path. He walked over to her and set his hand on her shoulder. “If you like, I can climb over, dear,” he told her, his voice gentle.

“A-are you sure, da’?” she asked. “I _am_ the smallest and lightest…”

“Yes, but there are also spiderwebs up there, which you’re scared of,” he reminded her. “I have no qualms about going over, I promise.”

She nodded. “Alright…just—just be careful, da’. I don’t want you falling into that water.” A small smile came to her lips as he kissed the top of her head.

“Trust me, I don’t want to fall in either,” he chuckled. Giving her shoulder a small squeeze, he walked away, heading towards the dwarves with the ropes.

A quiet sigh left her mouth as she continued to stroke her braid. ‘I hope everything turns out alright,’ she thought, biting her lower lip as well. ‘It feels like the further we go into this forest, the more it wants to drive us _out_ of it—or out of our minds…And it doesn’t help that we’re having to ration so much, either. I don’t understand it, though; Beorn said he packed us enough to get us through the forest. Why did we run out so soon?’

“Mouse-Lass?”

The voice pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up to find Thorin standing just a few feet from her. “Yes, Oakenshield?”

“Are you alright?” From what she could see, he wore a concerned expression as he looked down at her. “You’ve been awfully quiet the last few days.”

Nodding, she gave him a reassuring smile. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “There just hasn’t been much to talk about, I suppose. Aside from those nasty spiderwebs, that is.” Her nose scrunched up and she shuddered at the thought.

Reaching over, he let his knuckles brush against her cheek as he pushed some hair behind her ear. “You don’t fancy spiders, I take it?” he asked with a quiet laugh.

“Not at all,” she answered, her cheeks turning a bit pink. “Small ones are bad enough, but judging by how thick the strands of silk are that make up those webs, the ones here are _gigantic_.” She shifted slightly, looking away in embarrassment. “I’m just glad it’s only the webs we’ve seen so far.”

He nodded in agreement. “I’m in no hurry to see the size of the creatures that made them, either.” Glancing over his shoulder, he could see that everyone else was focused on Bilbo, who was getting a boost from Dwalin as he climbed into one of the trees. With their attention elsewhere, he turned back to Baylee and, leaning over, gently pressed his forehead against hers. “We’ll be out of this wretched place before long,” he quietly promised her.

She was more than a little surprised by his actions; it was the first time he had shown her any physical affection since Beorn’s home. It was understandable, however, given how stressed everyone had been, but it had left her wondering if, maybe, she had imagined the hand holding and hair braiding. “I know we will,” she murmured, her cheeks starting to burn. Swallowing a bit harder than normal, she hesitantly reached up and set her hand on his cheek. It was almost amusing, how small it both looked and felt against his face. “…And…I think, when we _are_ out of here, you and I should have a small talk.”

A soft chuckle left his mouth and he nodded in agreement. Lifting his own hand, he set it overtop hers, keeping it pressed against his cheek. “I agree,” he murmured, “though, I daresay it will be more than just a ‘small talk’, Mouse-Lass. And it may be one that we’ll have to include your father in.”

She smiled, her brow rising slightly. “Which one? It would seem I’ve two of them now.”

“Whichever one that will be least likely to want my head on a platter.” Hearing shouts of encouragement beginning behind him, he let out a quiet sigh. “We should join the others.”

“We should,” she agreed, though there was a hint of reluctance to her voice. For the few moments that they had stood there, it had almost felt like they had been a world away from the foul forest. Her cheeks grew hot again when, before he pulled back, Thorin turned his head and placed a kiss in the middle of her palm.

Then, taking her small hand in his, he led her back towards the group. “Don’t cheer too loudly,” he warned them. “We don’t want to attract whatever foul things that may live in these woods.”

Remembering the eyes they had seen during their first few nights in the woods, the group quickly hushed up. Above them, they could hear the creaking of branches as Bilbo crawled his way across once in a while, they also heard him scold something that had dared to hinder his path or startle him. Try as she might, Baylee couldn’t see far enough to tell just where her father was.

Soon enough, though, they heard Bilbo call from the other side of the river, “Alright! I’ve got the rope tied nice and tight! Time to secure your end!”

Taking the rope from Oin, Gloin went over to the nearest tree and, after pulling the rope taut, tied it into place. “All tied, Bilbo! Come back over now.”

It took some time for the hobbit to pull the boat across the river. Not only was it surprisingly large—it would be able to hold three dwarves at the very least—but Gloin’s end of the rope was also steadily getting higher and higher. By the time he reached the other side, he had to have his arms above his head in order to hold onto the rope.

“You could have put it a smidge lower, you know,” he panted, stepping out of the boat once it had been pulled ashore.

Gloin gave him an apologetic smile.

“Alright,” Balin said, clapping his hands together in order to get everyone’s attention. “How should we go about this? From the looks of it, the boat can hold at least three o’ us dwarves, but we’ll need someone to play ferryman.”

“No, we won’t!” Kili chirped. “Now that the boat’s on our side, we can tie a rope to it an’ pull it back to us when its passengers have gotten off.”

“That’s a good point, lad,” Dwalin said with a nod of agreement. “Now it’s just a question o’ who’s goin’ when.”

“Balin, Mouse-Lass, and I will go first,” Thorin said, “then Bilbo, Bofur, and Bifur. Fili and Kili next. Then Nori, Dori, Ori. Oin, Gloin, and Dwalin. Bombur will go last, since he counts for at least two of us.”

Bombur frowned. “Why must I go last?” he argued. “I’m _always_ last! Why can’t I go first for once?”

Bifur said something in Khuzdul, to which a good portion of the dwarves nodded in agreement.

“Aye, ladies an’ royals always go first,” Dori said. “It’s the polite thing t’ do.”

“We also don’t want him sinking the boat before the rest o’ us get across,” Baylee heard Nori mutter to Ori.

“Someone get a rope tied to the boat,” Thorin ordered. “The longer we’re stuck on this side, the more light we lose.” He started to walk towards the boat, his pace just a bit slower than normal, as he still held Baylee’s hand.

When they were close enough, he scooped the hobbit lass up (which had made her squeak in surprise) and carefully set her in the boat. He then helped Balin to step into it, which took a bit of work; Balin was almost too short to get his leg over the edge comfortably and he refused to let Thorin pick him up.

“I may be old, but I’m not _that_ old, Thorin,” he scolded as the king gave him a slight boost. “I’m just a wee bit shorter than I used t’ be.”

“Aye. And you’re a wee bit wider, too,” Thorin said, some amusement in his voice, “which makes you a wee bit heavier.”

Both heard a snort from behind them and, looking at the prow, saw Fili standing there, a rope in hand as he made sure it was tied securely. He quickly looked back down at the rope; they couldn’t see how red his cheeks had grown. When he finished tying the rope, he held onto the boat with one hand while he used the other to pull hard on the rope. Finding that it was good and secured, he grinned.

“There, all tied up,” he told his uncle. “You get in and I’ll help push you into the water.”

Nodding, Thorin climbed into the boat and, unlike Balin and Baylee, he remained standing, his hands gripping the guide rope. Once the boat was back in the flowing water, he started to slowly drag them across the stream.

“Be careful, laddie,” Balin warned him. “We don’t need you t’ lose your balance and fall in.”

“Or for him to lose his balance, fall in, and flip the boat at the same time,” Baylee added.

“I assure you both that I’m being quite cautious,” Thorin replied, his voice a bit dry. “You have no need to worry about any of us toppling in.” Part of him was tempted to rock the boat slightly just to startle them, but he resisted.

Soon enough, the boat lurched somewhat as it slid onto the opposite shore. Thorin pulled it up a few more feet just to be sure it wouldn’t float away before hopping out. Balin was the second to get out; he needed less help than when he was getting in, though he did need some assistance when his boot got caught under the seat. Baylee was last and, like Balin, she didn’t need as much help. Thorin offered her his hand and she took it before lifting her dress slightly and hopping out.

“Alright, pull it back!” Balin called out, using his foot to give the boat a good push. “We made it safely an’ without incident!”

“Got it! See you in a few minutes!” came Bofur’s reply.

“This hopefully won’t take us too long,” Balin then told Thorin and Baylee. “I don’t want t’ be stuck on the banks o’ this river come nightfall. Who knows what creatures are able t’ drink this water without ill effect?”

A shudder ran through Baylee’s body at the thought. “That isn’t something I’d like to think about,” she murmured. Something lightly squeezed her hand and, looking down, she found that Thorin still had a hold of it. Her cheeks grew a bit warm and she smiled.

“Nor is it somethin’ I want t’ think about either, lass,” Balin sighed, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “But with those webs above us, it’s a thought that’s been lurkin’ in my mind since yesterday.” As he glanced over at the two, his brow rose slightly when he found their hands clasped. He said nothing, however; now wasn’t the time to discuss potential courtships.

“We’ve made plenty of noise this far,” Thorin said. “If that wasn’t enough to draw something nasty towards us, then I don’t know what will. We just need to stick to the path.” He could hear the grunting of Bifur as he started to pull the boat across the water.

Closing her eyes, Baylee let out a soft sigh; unconsciously, she started to listen to their surroundings. Beyond Bifur’s grunting, she could hear the quiet talk of the dwarves who still remained on the western bank. In the trees around them, she could hear the scuttling and soft chattering of squirrels as they went about their business, gathering nuts and whatever other edible things they could find. Off in the distance, however, she thought she could hear something akin to a horn and, perhaps, dogs barking. Her brows furrowed in confusion and she wondered if she was hearing the sounds correctly; after all, who in their right mind would hunt in _this_ forest?

“Mouse-Lass?”

Opening her eyes, she found Thorin looking at her with some concern. “Hmm? Sorry, I was listening to things beyond us.”

He nodded in understanding. “I thought you may have fallen asleep whilst standing,” he chuckled. “Do you hear anything of interest?”

“As tired as I am, I don’t think I’d be able to fall asleep standing up,” she chuckled. “And…well, I’m not sure if I’m hearing correctly, but it almost sounds like there’s a far-off hunting party.”

His eyes widened, but his brows furrowed. “A hunting party?” he repeated. “Why would one of those be happening in this foul place?”

“That’s why I’m wondering if it’s just the forest playing tricks on my mind,” she sighed. “Maybe when da’ gets over here, we can see if he hears them, too.”

“A good idea. You hobbits have better hearing than us, after all.” Looking back to the stream, he could see the silhouettes of Bifur and the boat drawing near. He gave Baylee’s hand another gentle squeeze before releasing it in order to go help haul the boat ashore.

Waiting until the boat had been emptied of its latest passengers, Baylee walked over to her father and lightly tugged on his sleeve to get his attention.

“Hmm? Yes, dear?” he asked, a look of relief on his face. Like many hobbits, the two Bagginses weren’t fans of boats—they weren’t fans of water in general, save for when it came time to bathe—so to have his feet back on the ground was most welcoming.

“I need you to do some listening,” she explained, still holding onto his sleeve. She started to guide him a small way down the path so the dwarves wouldn’t take up most of his hearing. “Try and listen into the distance as much as possible.”

His brow rose. “And just what is it I’m supposed to be listening for?” he asked her, a great deal of caution in his voice.

“I’m not sure, which is why I want your second opinion.” When she saw that he remained unconvinced, she let out a small sigh. “I can’t tell you what to listen for, otherwise your mind may make it up.”

Nodding in understanding, he closed his eyes and started to listen to the world around them. “I hear squirrels…the stream…the dwarves…” His brows then furrowed. “I hear…dogs? And horns?” Opening his eyes, he looked down at her in confusion. “Why do I hear horns and dogs?”

“Some sort of hunting party is my guess,” she told him. “But why they’d be in _this_ forest of all places is beyond me.” Looking past her father, she saw Thorin talking quietly with Balin. “Oakenshield?”

The king turned slightly. “Yes, Mouse-Lass?”

“Da’ heard the same thing I did, which means there _must_ be a sort of hunting party somewhere out there.”

Bofur, who had been making his way towards the hobbits, perked at this news. “A hunting party? If we run into them, they might be able t’ show us the way out o’ this place!”

“And, possibly, give us some food,” Balin added. “Right now, what’s more important is that we find _somethin’_ to supplement the rations we’ve got left.”

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” Bilbo warned. “They’re very far off in the distance and it was hard to tell if they were coming towards us or going away from us.” He frowned slightly and reached over, starting to pluck little twigs and bits of nature from his daughter’s hair. “What I wouldn’t give to have some proper light and a comb to tame this mess you’ve got going on,” he murmured.

“You’re one to talk, da’,” she chuckled. “From what I can see, your hair looks like a bird’s been nesting in it—and not a bird who’s very good at making nests, either.”

Bofur quietly laughed, his brow rising. “I think we’re all wishin’ for some downtime in order t’ primp ourselves a bit,” he said. He then let out a small sigh and looked down the path. “Some downtime, some food an’ water, an’ some sunshine…That’s all we really need right now.”

“We’ll get all of those soon enough,” Bilbo assured him. “Maybe not quite as soon as we’d like, but something’s telling me that we’re getting close to reaching the end of this place.” He glanced over at the shore as Fili and Kili arrived. Kili gave the boat a good shove, sending it back towards the others. “We just need to have patience.”

“Patience is something we’re all running out of,” Baylee sighed. She leaned sideways, resting her head against Bilbo’s arm.

“Aye, an’ most o’ us dwarves already have precious little in the way o’ patience,” Bofur joked. A small smile came to his lips when he watched Bilbo wrap his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, holding her close. “We’ll know things are gettin’ real bad when the two o’ you start gettin’ short with us.”

Baylee’s brow rose slightly and a bit of an amused smile came to her lips. “But when we’re around you lot, we’re already short.”

Rolling his eyes, Bilbo quietly laughed and held his free hand out towards Bofur. “Very funny, dear…If our amounts of patience matched our heights, then you’d be the crankiest of us all!” When Bofur came over and took his hand, he gave his hand a small squeeze.

“Then it’s a good thing that’s not how it works.” She covered her mouth as she yawned.

Bilbo and Bofur yawned in turned. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice, soft bed, though,” the latter sighed. “I think I could sleep for a week straight after all o’ this. After spendin’ an entire day eatin’ an’ drinkin’, that is.”

“That’d be so very nice,” Bilbo murmured. “Maybe have a few pipefuls of Old Toby or Longbottom Leaf.”

Her nose scrunched up. “Ew…”

He chuckled, his brow rising at his daughter’s reaction. “ _You_ don’t have to partake in any of the Longbottom Leaf. You can have your fruity tobaccos.”

“Oh, the Shire has fruity ones? That’s good,” Bofur grinned. “I fancy myself some o’ the sweeter ones; they’re not as harsh as other flavors.”

“Finally, someone who agrees with me!” Baylee snorted. Opening her eyes, she looked over at the stream; almost everyone was on this side now. Bombur, she could see, was just about to reach the shore.

Bofur suddenly cried out and, the next thing the hobbits knew, they were flat on the ground, Bofur’s arm thrown across them. They looked up just in time to see the massive silhouette of an elk leap past them. Barreling its way through the crowd of dwarves, the elk reached the shore and it leapt across, drawing out a cry from Bombur. There was then a loud splash and the sounds of panicking dwarves.

“Bombur!” Bofur cried, jumping to his feet. He raced towards the shore, leaving Bilbo and Baylee stunned on the ground.

“He’s still holding the rope!”

“C’mon, lads, pull!”

“Dori, get yer arse over here!”

As she sat up, Baylee could see Dori, Dwalin, Bofur, and Bifur pulling on the guide rope. Soon, the large mass that was Bombur was dragged onto shore. He didn’t move, however, making his brother and cousin start to panic even more.

“What do we do!?” Bofur cried. He started to shake him, hoping against hope that he would wake up and be alright. “Bombur! Wake up! There’s a wheel o’ cheese with your name on it!” Bifur came over and started to shake him as well; between the two of them, the pair were practically rolling Bombur like a rolling pin.

But still, Bombur did not stir. He did, however, take them all by surprise by suddenly—and very loudly—snoring. Everyone froze at that point, confusion overcoming their features as Bombur continued to snore, albeit quieter this time.

“He’s…asleep…?” Ori thought aloud.

Having gotten to their feet by that time, Bilbo and Baylee came over. “Of course it put him to sleep,” said the former. “Beorn warned us this stream will ‘cast a great spell of drowsiness and forgetfulness’.” He frowned as he looked down at the round dwarf only to sigh and shake his head. “Something tells me he’s not going to be waking up for quite a while.”

“If he wakes up at all,” Bofur sniffled. Reaching over, he used his foot to give his brother one last shake, though it was to no avail. “Oh, Bombur…why’d you have t’ go an’ do a dumb thing like that?”

Thorin closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh. “Of all the rotten luck,” he grumbled under his breath. “We have no choice but to carry him,” he then said to the others. “Let’s find some branches…maybe we’ll be able to lash something together that will hold his weight.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something tells me you all are going to really like the end of this chapter ;)

Bombur slept on without waking and without losing the blissfully unaware smile that had plastered itself to his face. The others, however, were _not_ so happy. Not only were they having to take turns carrying him on the makeshift litter, but their packs were growing lighter and lighter thanks to their dwindling food supplies. Their tempers, too, were beginning to diminish; even the hobbits were growing irritable thanks to their nearly-empty stomachs.

On the fourth day since leaving the river, unable to bear it anymore, the dwarves had sent Bilbo climbing into the tree tops in hopes of having the hobbit spot the end of the accursed forest. It was to no avail, however: The trees seemingly went on for forever and ever. When he passed this news on to the rest of the company, he was met by curses and groans.

That night was also the night they ate the last crumbs and drank the last drops of water they had. They went to sleep that night, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t true and that, when they woke up in the morning, their packs would have plenty of food and water in them.

The fifth day brought not only empty stomachs and parched throats, but it was also raining. It felt as if the world was mocking the group; large drops of water occasionally found their way down through the canopy, falling to the ground with loud ‘splats’ on the dried leaves. As badly as they wanted to stop and stand still in hopes of a droplet landing on their tongues, they pressed on.

Late afternoon of the sixth day, though, brought a bit of goodness—at least, it was good at first. Bombur woke up. Not surprisingly, he remembered nothing that had happened over the last week. What _was_ surprisingly was that he didn’t remember _anything_ about their adventure whatsoever. The last thing he could recall was going to sleep in Bag End.

“Do you honestly not remember a single thing?” Bofur questioned, his brows furrowed. “Not the trolls? Not the warg riders? Not even bein’ chased through Goblin Town?”

Bombur shook his head. “Not at all. The only things I remember are my wonderful dreams. Oh! You would have liked them, Bofur! There were great feasts takin’ place in a forest much like this one—only, the trees were filled with torches an’ lanterns. An’ the tables were overflowin’ with food! There was so much food, Bofur! An’ at the head o’ the table there was a king who was crowned with leaves!”

“Shush!” Balin scolded. “Keep your dreams to yourself; we’ve been havin’ to carry you on empty stomachs for the past two days!”

Horror came to Bombur’s round face. “Wh-what?! We’re out o’ food?” he gasped. “You’re jokin’!”

“No, he’s not,” Bofur told him. He then wagged a scolding finger at his brother; if he wasn’t so hungry, Bilbo would have found it amusing, as Bofur had adopted the same posture as him when he was scolding Baylee. “Now look: While I’m happy you’re finally awake, we won’t be havin’ none of your complaining, alright? We’re all miserable.” He helped his brother to his feet, though he noticed how he wobbled slightly.

“Now I wish I hadn’t woken up,” Bombur pouted. As he rose, he felt his head grow light and he was, for a moment, quite dizzy. “I wish I had remained asleep and dreaming of those wonderous feasts!”

The company continued onwards, many of them feeling their stomachs painfully demanding sustenance. Bombur took up the rear of the group and, despite his brother’s warnings, he continued to complain. Around them, the forest began growing darker and darker as night fell.

Thanks to Bombur’s complaints, they weren’t able to hear the distant singing and laughter, though they were drawing nearer to its source.

But then, Baylee spotted something. She was walking alongside Thorin and Fili when she happened to look up and to her left. Her brows furrowed when she saw what looked like the light of a fire; it occasionally flickered as, what she assumed to be a person, walked in front of it. Tugging on Thorin’s sleeve, she pointed towards the light.

“Is—is that a campfire?” she asked him.

Thorin’s head whipped around to see where she was pointing. Fili, having heard her as well, also looked into the distance.

“It is a fire!” the prince gawked. “There’s people!”

“People? Where?!” Dwalin demanded. He hurried to stand alongside them and, when Fili pointed, his eyes widened. “By my beard, it _is_ a fire!”

“I can smell roastin’ meats!” Oin cried. “They’ve got food!”

“An’ where there’s food, there’s drink!” Bofur quickly added.

“What’re we waitin’ for?! Let’s go see if they’ve enough t’ share!” Nori said. Without another word, he started to walk forward, towards the edge of the path.

Thorin suddenly held out his arm, stopping him. “No. We need to think about this,” he told the group. “This could very well be one of those illusions Gandalf was telling us about.”

“Don’t be preposterous!” Dori snapped. “Illusions don’t have _smells_ , Thorin. They’re tricks o’ the eyes—not the eyes an’ nose!” His chest puffed up somewhat in pride as the others started to agree with him. “See? The others agree with me. We _must_ go see if they’ve got any food to spare.”

Bilbo shook his head. “But it’s off the path— _far_ off the path! It’s getting darker by the minute; what will happen if we lose our way between here and there?”

“We’ll be damned if we do an’ damned if we don’t,” Dwalin grumbled. He looked at Thorin. “You’re our king an’ I’ll stand by whatever decision you make, Thorin, but I really hope that decision ends up bein’ the right one.”

Thorin tried to look at the faces of his companions, though with the light fading, it was hard to see those who stood further away from him. After some minutes, he turned back towards the fire and heaved a great sigh. “We’ll all go,” he told them. “If we get lost, then at least we’ll be lost together.” While he spoke, he subtly reached down and took hold of Baylee’s hand; behind them, Bofur did the same to Bilbo.

With the group in agreement, Thorin started to lead them away from the path. He kept his pace somewhat slower, both because he didn’t want to sound like a wild animal charging towards whoever it was that made the fire and because he didn’t want to make Baylee sprint to keep up with him.

“A-are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked him after a few minutes.

“No,” he quietly admitted, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “but we have no other choice.” He tried to glance down at her, but at that point, it was too dark to make out her features. “We _need_ to find some sort of food source, even if it means leaving the path to beg from strangers.”

She returned the hand squeeze as best she could, but being that her hand almost fit entirely within his, it was difficult. Part of her told her that this was going to lead to their deaths; that they should have stayed on the path like Gandalf said. But as the smell of roasting meats filled her nose and made her mouth begin to water, another part of her told her to keep going and she would be rewarded with food.

‘I just hope that this _will_ end with us getting a good meal,’ she thought. Glancing over her shoulder, she could only see moving silhouettes behind her; the sight was actually quite eerie and sent a shiver down her spine.

“Just…don’t let go of my hand, alright?” Thorin’s voice was quiet, not wanting to be overheard by the others. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

“I won’t,” she promised, her voice just as quiet as his. Despite the tense situation they were in, the softness of his voice made her feel a little less scared.

The nearer they got to the fire, the stronger the smell of cooking meat got. They could also hear the sounds of voices singing—fair voices, but ones that became eerie as they echoed through the forest. Soon, the group could see that the fire was in the center of a clearing and that the voices belonged to elves. Upon seeing what race it was, Thorin was tempted to turn right around and head back to the path, but his empty stomach made him ignore that urge.

The group was about thirty feet from the clearing when, ahead of them, they could see the shape of an enormous boar being slowly turned on a spit. Thanks to being continuously basted with its own drippings, its skin was golden brown and looked as if it would be quite crispy.

So hungry the group was that, before Thorin could stop them, they charged forward with the full intent of begging for even just the smallest taste of the pig. But no sooner had the first dwarf stepped out of the shadows that the fire was doused, sending thousands of red sparks into the air and plunging the area into darkness.

“No! No, please come back!” someone wailed; in the confusion, it was hard for Baylee and Bilbo to tell just who it was. “We mean you no harm!”

“Please, we’re starving!” another person cried.

But it was too late; whatever elves and food had been there just a few moments ago were now gone.

“This is terrible,” Kili lamented. “Absolutely terrible. Now, not only are we starving, but we don’t know where the path is.”

Thorin swore under his breath, using his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Then we’ll just settle here for the night. When morning comes, we’ll look for the path…and, possibly, any scraps of food that may have been left behind.” Though he very much doubted that the elves had left any behind. “Dori, you take first watch.”

“Wh-what?!” Dori gawked. “But I—”

“It was _you_ who argued so hard for us to go after the lights,” Thorin harshly reminded him, “therefore, you get first watch.”

Grumbling, Dori plopped down right where he was and crossed his arms over his chest. He remained upright while the rest of the group, with little choice left to them, laid out on the ground and prepared to sleep away the rest of the night.

Baylee let out a quiet, defeated sigh as she let go of Thorin’s hand in order to get settled on the ground. No sooner had she sat down, however, than she felt him wrap his arms around her. Her eyes widened slightly as he brought her in close, holding her against his chest.

“…Oakenshield?” she murmured, her voice betraying her confusion.

“Shh,” he murmured, letting her use his arm as a pillow. “Not now, Mouse-Lass. Maybe come morning.”

Biting her lower lip, she nodded and snuggled in closer to him. She closed her eyes, a soft sigh leaving her mouth. Thorin started to stroke the back of her head, leaving her wondering if he was doing it more to comfort her or to comfort himself. Whatever the reason, it was soothing enough that she soon felt herself beginning to drift off into slumber.

But before sleep could fully take hold of her, Dori’s voice broke through the silence. “I see another light!” he told them. “Actually, I see _many_ lights!”

There were groans of confusion from the group as they started to sit up and look around. It took a few minutes for everyone to find the fires in the distance, but when they found the lights, they started to scramble to their feet.

“Wait!” Thorin said, his voice loud and authoritative enough that everyone ceased moving. “We cannot rush them this time. We will travel towards the lights as a group, but when we get there, we’ll send Master Baggins forward to do the talking.”

“Wh-wh-why me?” Bilbo questioned.

“You and Mouse-Lass are the least threatening looking among us,” Thorin said, “and between the two of you, you are better when it comes to coming up with words on the spot.”

Bilbo highly doubted that that was the reason why Thorin wanted to send him instead of Baylee, but he wouldn’t argue—he didn’t want to put Baylee at risk, either. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll try to persuade the elves to help us, though I can’t make any promises.”

With the plan set in stone, the group once again made their way towards the lights. This time, however, they held hands with one another; they didn’t want to risk getting separated in the darkness, especially with many of them still being a bit groggy. Slowly, they made their way through the forest, occasionally stumbling over a tree root or getting caught in a bit of underbrush.

After half an hour, they finally made it within fifteen feet of the new elf circle. Thorin gave Bilbo a reassuring pat on the back before sending him forward. With his stomach churning in nervousness, Bilbo crept his way along, the light of the bonfire enough to let him see the ground. He approached the end of the trees and, taking a deep breath, took a step forward.

“E-Excuse me—”

But before he could say another word, the fire went out once more in an explosion of red-orange sparks. The dwarves started to cry out their pleas once more, but it was too late. Yet again, the elves were gone and the company was left in total darkness.

Cursing their foul luck as well as the coldhearted elves, the company settled down for the night once again. This time, Kili was left on watch, though it was quite unneeded: Despite laying down, most of the company was still wide awake and grumbling away.

After nearly an hour, though, their complaints grew quiet and, slowly, they started to drift off. When an hour and a half had passed, Kili got ready to rouse Dwalin for his turn at watch. Luckily, he had made sure to sit down next to Dwalin so that he wouldn’t have to stumble around in the dark looking for him.

But just as he reached down to shake the older dwarf, he his nose caught a whiff of something: Roasting meat. His brows furrowing, he started to twist and turn about in an attempt to locate the direction the smell was coming from. Instead, as he turned completely around, he found himself staring at even more lights than before. They were closer this time—so close, he started to hear bits of their songs.

“Everyone! The lights are back!” he called. “They’re back and they’re closer than ever!”

“Just leave them be!” Gloin grumbled. He was tired of stumbling through the dark, chasing after parties of elves who wouldn’t let them get a word in before disappearing.

“Aye,” Nori agreed, his voice heavy with sleep. “Haven’t we made fools o’ ourselves enough tonight?”

“I-I think we should risk it,” Bilbo said, taking them all by surprise, “just this one last time. Isn’t—isn’t the old adage ‘third time’s the charm’, after all?”

After a tense moment of quiet deliberation among the half-awake dwarves, it was decided that they _would_ try one last time to get help from the elves. This time, however, it would be Thorin stepping forward in hopes that they recognized he was a person of great authority. If the elves left them for a third time, though, then that was it. No matter if they saw the lights again or not, they wouldn’t chase after them anymore.

For the final time, the company made their way towards the lights. Admittedly, most of them had little hope for this to work; the elves disappeared the first two times, why would they suddenly stay for the third? But whether it was desperation brought on by hunger or hope brought on by their burglar that made them risk a final try, no one knew.

Once more, they stopped just short of the lights. Without a word, Thorin released Baylee’s hand and looked over his shoulder at the others. He gave them a small nod before stepping forward.

For the third time, the fire disappeared, but just a second before the black of night enveloped them once more, Baylee saw Thorin’s body go limp and start to fall forward. She squeaked and darted forward, praying that he hadn’t been hurt. Just as she reached his side, however, a great drowsiness came over her and it felt as if her limbs had turned to lead. Before she realized it, she was laying on the ground beside the king, fast asleep and dreaming of elven feasts.

* * *

It was chilly. _Very_ chilly.

As Baylee started to wake up, she wrapped her arms around herself and curled up into a small ball in hopes of getting a bit warmer. With her mind still half asleep, she wondered where the warmth of the bonfire had gone and why she could no longer smell roasting meats. She also wondered where the lovely music had gone and why the storytellers had ceased telling their stories. After all, she had _just_ been present at a glorious harvest feast!

What she had yet to notice was how, instead of the somewhat soft forest floor, she was now laying on carven stone. Nor did she quite yet notice how the air was fresher and not the least bit heavy. But what she _did_ notice, was that when she tried to tuck her feet under her petticoats, there were no petticoats to tuck them under.

Her brows furrowing, she opened her eyes. It wasn’t darkness she was greeted by, but the warm, flickering light given off by torches. There were no trees around her; she was in a tiny cave, its entrance blocked by a door made of wrought iron bars.

She was in some sort of prison cell.

But why? She was no criminal! Then, swallowing hard, she looked down at herself. At first, everything seemed to be alright; her dress was a bit dirtier on the front than she remembered it being, though nothing else stood out to her. But as she lifted her dress up to her knees, she let out a few choice and very unladylike words when she found that she was no longer wearing her petticoats. She also discovered that her sword was nowhere to be found.

‘This isn’t good,’ she thought, biting her lower lip. ‘This isn’t good at all! Where am I?’ Standing up, she made her way over to the door and peered out of it. She was in some sort of underground cavern, that much was obvious to her. In front of her cell, the walkway was made of both carved stone and carved wood. Not more than five feet in front of her, it ended in a sheer drop over a cliff, though she couldn’t tell how far down it went.

Closing her eyes, she did her best to listen for any sounds that may help her get an idea of where and why she was being held prisoner. Aside from the sound of distant, rushing water, however, she could hear nothing. No voice, no music, no rattling of utensils. Just rushing water.

‘Given how I was in Mirkwood before I fell asleep and the style in which these bars have been cast, I can only assume that I’m in an elven dungeon. But why? And how!? And why did they take my petticoats!? My sword I can understand, but my _petticoats?!_ ’

A groan from behind her made her squeak in surprise and, as she spun around, she could see a figure near the base of the wall beginning to stir. How she hadn’t noticed the figure before was beyond her, but as they started to fully wake up, they swore. Her eyes widened and she hurried to the figure’s side.

“Th-Thorin? Are you alright?” she asked, keeping her voice soft as she knelt beside him. She set her hand on the back of his neck and helped him as he started trying to sit up.

“M-Mouse-Lass …?” His eyes opened and he looked at her blearily. Propping himself against the wall, he pressed a hand to his forehead, his eyes closing once more as he tried to get his wits about him. “I was having the most wonderful dream…that we had finally gotten to sit down at the feast table. There was so much food, even Bombur got too full to eat!” She could see that he had been stripped of most of his clothes, leaving him in just his boots, trousers, and shirt (and, presumably, he got to keep _his_ underclothes).

“I had that same dream,” she told him, a pitying smile on her lips. Her hand unconsciously reached out and came to rest on his cheek. “I’m very sorry to say that the place we woke up in couldn’t be further from a feast hall.” He looked at her in confusion, but before he could ask what she meant, she answered with, “We’re in the dungeons of Mirkwood. At least, I can only assume we are.”

“What?!” Thorin started to look around, his brows furrowed deeply and his eyes wide. Seeing all the stone, he pushed himself to his feet and, after wobbling for a second, he went over to the door. He peered out, seeing much the same as Baylee had, but he could also see that, much like Goblin Town, the walkways were twisting and winding in a seemingly endless maze. The cavern, too, seemed to stretch on an infinite amount with silhouettes of bridges dotting the horizon.

“Why are we here!?” he barked, his voice echoing around the cavern outside. “And where are the others? Where are our companions!? We’ve done _nothing_ to warrant being locked up like petty criminals!” he practically shouted. In his anger and frustration, he bashed the side of his fist against the iron bars, but they hardly rattled, let alone budged.

Baylee shrank back against the wall and, pulling her knees to her chest, she hugged herself in fear; she had never seen him this angry before. She had never seen _anyone_ this angry before. “I-I-I don’t know,” she squeaked. “I-I only ju-just woke up m-m-my-myself.”

As he turned, his anger was written all too plainly on his face. He searched for the hobbit lass, unable to see her at first. But as he squinted, he was able to see her near the spot he had been laying. She was curled up in a small ball, her eyes wide as she watched him and shaking ever so slightly.

Guilt filled his empty stomach as he saw her cowering—cowering because of _him_. His expression softening, he let out a soft sigh and moved to kneel beside her. Slowly and gently so as to not scare her, he brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. Feeling her relax under his touch, he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “I didn’t mean to frighten you like that. I was just…”

“Scared, confused, and angry?” she murmured, a bit of a waver to her voice.

“Yes. Exactly.” He sighed. “I’m sure you felt the same when you woke up.”

“Most certainly scared and confused, yes. Angry? Not so much.” Her eyes closed and a shiver ran down her spine as his palm came to rest against her cheek; his skin was much warmer than hers. “I suppose I am a bit angry, though: Whoever put us in here took my petticoats.”

He frowned as he felt how cold her cheek was. “More than likely, they thought you were hiding weapons beneath them. You’re freezing, Mouse-Lass.” Before she could say anything, he scooped her up and, after sitting with his back against the wall, he held her close to his form. His arms remained wrapped around her, giving her further warmth. If he had had all his clothes, he would have gladly given her his overcoat. “How’s this?”

“Much better.” Her voice was a bit muffled thanks to her head now being nestled in the crook of his neck. “Thank you.” Another shiver ran down her spine as his body heat started to sink into her skin.

“Do you remember anything prior to waking up?” He closed his eyes, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the side of her arm.

“Not really, no. The last thing I remember clearly is da’ stepping forward to try to speak with the elves.”

“That’s what I last remember, too.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I hope the others are alright.”

“Me, too. I don’t want to think about the possibility of them being captured like us, but at the same time, I kind of hope they have been.”

His brow rose and he tried to look down at her, but her face was hidden from view. “Why do you say that?”

“Elves may not like dwarves very much, but they wouldn’t let dwarven—and hobbit—prisoners starve.” As he stroked her arm, she could feel her mind trying to grow fuzzy with sleep again, but she fought the feeling.

“That is true,” he agreed, though reluctantly. Closing his eyes, he let his head tilted back to rest against the wall. 

“And if they have been captured, I hope they’re in cells that are a bit warmer than this…or, at the very least, have been given a blanket.”

Thorin couldn’t help but chuckle at her words. “We’re trapped in a prison cell and you’re hoping that, if the others are also imprisoned, they have blankets. Mouse-Lass, I’m not sure if you’re worrying about the right thing.”

As she heard his laugh, a small smile came to her lips. “Believe me when I say I’m worried about this situation,” she told him, “but there’s not much either of us can do aside from wait.” Lifting her hand, she reached over and ran her fingers along one of his braids. “They’re bound to come down to check on us soon; when that happens, we can start asking questions.”

“It is not you who gets to ask the questions.”

Both Thorin and Baylee jumped, their eyes wide as they looked at the cell door. Two female elves stood there; one had long, raven hair while the other had long, silvery hair.

The one with raven hair unlocked the door to the cell, opening it. “Come. Our king demands an audience with you both,” she said.

“Why have you brought us here?” Thorin demanded, his eyes narrowing. “And where are our companions?”

Baylee reluctantly pulled away from Thorin and stood up. The sudden lack of warmth made her shiver and she hugged herself.

“As I said, dwarf, you are not the one who gets to ask questions,” the black-haired elf told him, her voice almost as cold as the air. She watched as he stood up and both prisoners began to make their way towards the door.

When the two came out of the cell, the black-haired elf started to lead them off down the path. Thorin followed next, with Baylee behind him and the silver-haired elf taking up the rear. Along winding walkways and through countless halls they were led, the path they followed more of a maze than anything. But it was a maze the she-elves knew all too well by this time; they could have followed it with their eyes closed.

After nearly ten minutes of walking, Baylee and Thorin were brought around a bend and, above them in the distance, they could see a great throne carved from a massive tree root. It was hard to tell, but it looked as if great elk antlers had been affixed to the back of the throne, making it look even larger and more intimidating. It didn’t help that, as they got nearer and nearer, they found the throne to be higher and larger than they originally thought.

They climbed a short flight of stairs before the raven-haired elf brought them to a halt. “Stay here,” she told the prisoners before walking forward.

Baylee swallowed hard as she looked up at the elven king. He was unlike Lord Elrond; the Lord of Imladris had dark hair and had been surrounded by an air of kindness and intelligence. The Lord of Mirkwood, however, had white-blonde hair while the air about him was one of cold arrogance. Even without speaking to him, she found that she didn’t much care for him.

It was then Thorin was beckoned forward. Watching as he walked towards the throne, she brought her braid over her should and started to stroke it. Her stomach was a mess of nerves; she couldn’t begin to imagine how Thorin’s must’ve felt.

“Long has it been since last we saw one another, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror,” the king said, his voice echoing throughout the chamber around them.

“Thranduil,” was all Thorin replied with, his voice cold.

One of Thranduil’s thick brows rose ever so slightly. “I find it curious that you and so many others were tramping about my realm so recently.”

Thorin said nothing.

Displeased by his silence, Thranduil then asked, “Why did you and your folk three times try to attack my people at their merrymaking?”

“We didn’t attack them,” said Thorin. “We came to beg because we were starving.”

“Where are your friends now, and what are they doing?”

Neither Thorin nor Baylee liked this question; it told them that the rest of the company was still somewhere out in the forest. “I don’t know,” Thorin then answered, “but I expect starving in the forest.”

“And just what were you doing in the forest? And on a path so very rarely used by outsiders, no less.”

“Looking for food and drink because we were starving.”

Thranduil’s irritation began to show. “But _what_ brought you into the forest in the first place?” he demanded.

Once more, Thorin said nothing. But, unbeknownst to him, his silence was all the answer the elven king needed.

A smirk came to Thranduil’s lips as he gazed down at the dwarf. Rising to his feet, he descended the wooden stairs and strolled his way past Thorin. “Some would say a noble quest is at hand. A quest to perhaps reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more…prosaic motive: Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk.” Approaching Baylee, he looked down at her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

Her cheeks turning a bit red at his intense stare, she glanced away and hugged herself a bit tighter. ‘Why would he suspect something like that?’ she thought, rubbing her arms slightly. It wasn’t much warmer up here than it had been down in the cell. ‘Of course Thorin wants to kill Smaug and reclaim Erebor for his people—it’s his _home_.’

“You have found a way in,” Thranduil continued, turning. He walked away from the halfling, coming to instead stand beside Thorin. “You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: The King’s Jewel. The Arkenstone.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards just a touch more when he watched Thorin look away from him, confirming his suspicions.

He continued forward until coming to a halt at the foot of the steps leading up to his throne. “It is precious to you beyond measure and I understand that. There are gems in that mountain that I, too, desire. White gems of pure starlight.” Then, closing his eyes and bowing his head in a what was surely meant to be mock humbleness, he stated, “I offer you my help.”

There was a small pause as Thorin thought over his words. “I am listening,” he said after a moment.

“I will let you go… _if_ you return what is mine.”

Baylee watched as Thorin turned around, walking a few paces away; she bit her lower lip and continued to stroke her hair. She knew how much Thorin disliked the elven king and what horrors he had left the dwarves of Erebor to all those years ago—but, with their destination so close to them, would he break down and accept Thranduil’s help? Especially when they had no idea what had happened to the rest of the company?

“A favor for a favor?” Thorin questioned.

“You have my word,” Thranduil promised. “From one king to another.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed somewhat and, quietly, he answered. “I would not trust the ‘great’ king, Thranduil, to honor his word should the end of days be upon us!” By the end of the sentence, his voice had crescendoed into yelling. Spinning around, he pointed accusingly at the elf. “You lack _all_ honor!” he shouted, voice echoing all around them and making Baylee shrink back once more. “I’ve seen how you treat your ‘friends’. We came to you once—starving, homeless, and seeking your help! But you turned your back on us. You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us! _Imrid amrad ursul!_ ”

With surprising speed, Thranduil leapt forward and, leaning over so that he was level with Thorin’s face, he quietly snarled, “Do _not_ talk to me of dragon fire!” Baylee’s eyes widened as she watched the left half of his face change from fair, untouched skin to scarred sinew, muscle and bone. His eye, too, changed, becoming milky white. “I know its wrath and its ruin, for I have faced the great serpents of the north,” he hissed.

He turned away from the dwarf once more and started to ascend the stairs of his throne. “I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen,” he said, voice loud enough for all present to hear. “I thought you might have learned from the mistakes he had made throughout his life. I thought you may have been different…but I see now that I was wrong— _very_ wrong. You are just like him.” Sitting down in his throne, he crossed his left leg over his right. With a subtle movement of his hand, a pair of guards stepped forward and grabbed Thorin by the arms. “Stay here if you will and _rot_. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf and I am patient. I can wait.”

A quiet squeak left Baylee’s mouth and she tried to go after Thorin as he was dragged away. The silver-haired elf held her back, however, keeping her rooted to the dais. Her stomach started churning, making her feel sick.

“Come, little mistress,” the she-elf told her, starting to gently push her forward, towards the throne. “He will not be as harsh towards you.”

With no choice left to her, Baylee let herself be guided forward. She hugged herself as she looked up at the king, who she found to now be pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut. ‘Maybe he’s too annoyed to question me?’ she thought, though she knew that that wouldn’t be the case.

“It has been many a century since your kind was last seen on this side of the Misty Mountains,” he said, lowering his hand. It came to rest on the arm of his throne as he looked down at her; his expression had softened a great deal, almost startling her. “And I must say, your presence here takes me by great surprise. Once settled, Halflings are not the type who care for travel. Especially travel involving dwarves.”

She was silent; unlike Thorin, who had been stubborn, she just couldn’t think of anything to say in reply.

“Tell me, little one: Why do you travel with Thorin Oakenshield and his kin?” he then questioned.

“Be-because I-I wanted to go on an adventure be-before I settled down. I-I wanted to see the world,” she answered truthfully. She couldn’t tell if she was stammering more from the cold or from nervousness.

“Is that the only reason? Or, perhaps, there is another—one that holds more _value_?”

Her brow rose ever so slightly. “N-no, my lord,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. A hard feat to accomplish. “I-I-I joined be-because I was pro-promised adventure.”

His brow rose in turn and she could see a bit of amusement on his lips. “Judging by the fresh scars you bear, you’ve found more than you bargained for.” As her cheeks grew redder and she shifted a bit uncomfortably, his grin grew a touch wider. “And why would Thorin Oakenshield let a tiny thing like you join his ‘noble’ quest when it was only adventure that you sought?”

She debated whether or not she should answer, but with Thranduil already knowing that they were going to Erebor, what was the point in lying? “He…he needed someone able to for-forage for edible and medicinal pl-plants.” She rubbed her arms once more, attempting to create a bit of warmth via friction. “Understandably, dw-dwarves aren’t very good a-at that sort of thing, but we ho-hobbits are naturals at it.”

Slowly, he nodded and pondered her words as he attempted to detect any hint of falsity to her voice. “There is no need to tremble, little one. Though you may have seen Oakenshield bring out my less-than-pleasant side, I have no reason to harbor any ill will towards you.”

“Actually, my lord, it’s more the fact that I’m f-fr-freezing cold,” she said. “Your halls are like a-a-a cold cellar back home. And it most certainly doesn’t help th-th-that one of your guards took my petticoats while I-I was unconscious!” A pout came to her lips and her tone became more scolding. “Th-that was quite rude of the-the-them, by the way. Ta-taking part of my _underclothes_ of all ga-garments! My sw-sword I can understand, but why my _p-petticoats_?” She suddenly grew tense as she realized she had just told off the King of Mirkwood.

But, evidently, she had nothing to fear, because he and the remaining guards began to laugh at her boldness. “My apologies, little one,” Thranduil told her, though she could tell his words were anything but sincere. “Your petticoats were, more than likely, deemed suspicious by my guards, which is why they removed them.”

Baylee badly wanted to continue scolding him, but she bit her tongue and remained quiet. ‘If I were a dwarven woman or a human woman,’ she complained to herself, ‘I could understand why they’d think I could hide weapons a petticoat, given how much longer their garments would be. But when I’m this small?! The most I could hide is butter knife!’

“Now, tell me, little one,” Thranduil said, a bit of laughter still in his voice. “What is the _real_ reason you and your friends thrice attacked my people?”

Her brows furrowed as she frowned. “Thorin already ga-gave you the answer to that question, my lord,” she stated. “We didn’t attack your people. We had been without food and dri-drink for nearly four days. We were st-starving and when we saw the li-lights of your fires and smelled the roasting meats, we ru-rushed to go beg for food. But before we cou-could say anything, they disappeared.”

At that, a bit of humor left Thranduil’s face. “I see. And I take it that you also do not know what has become of your companions?”

“No, my lord,” she replied, shaking her head. “The only th-thing I know for certain is th-that they aren’t here.”

He nodded slowly and looked past her. “Ithiliel. Return the halfling to her cell and see to it that she gets a blanket or two. We do not want her freezing to death while I think of what to do with her.”

The silver-haired she-elf nodded and bowed before stepping forward and placing her hand on Baylee’s shoulder. “Come along, little one,” she said. “We will get you warmed up soon enough.”

Biting her lower lip, Baylee turned around and started to walk alongside the elven woman. The pair walked in silence; Baylee tried to take note of the path they walked in case she and Thorin managed to somehow escape. As they walked, though, she couldn’t help but notice that Ithiliel kept looking down at her, a curious look on her face.

“I-Is something wrong?” she finally asked.

“My apologies, little mistress,” Ithiliel said. “It’s just that you’re the first halfling I’ve set my eyes on. I have heard of your kind, before, but…I must admit, you’re not quite what I expected.”

Feeling her cheeks grow a bit warm, Baylee chuckled quietly. “I assure yo-you, most hobbits aren’t covered in sc-scars like I am.”

“Oh, no, no—that is not what I meant!” she said, her eyes wide as she spoke quickly. “I merely meant that I have always pictured your kind as, well…as shorter and squatter dwarves. But you are far from that. You’re as if Eru shrunk a human and made them adorable.”

“Adorable?” she repeated, a bit of surprise in her voice. She then chuckled, looking back down at the path. “I ha-haven’t been called that since I was a ch-child.”

“…You’re _not_ a child? That’s quite the relief then—I had thought you were and was greatly questioning Oakenshield’s sanity at bringing a child with him on his journey.”

Her cheeks grew even warmer at that comment. “No. I am v-very much an adult hobbit. I’m just sm-small, even for my people.”

“There are ones taller than you, then?”

“Oh, mo-most adults are taller than me,” she chuckled. “I’m three-foot-seven. Mo-most adults are four foot and taller.” Rubbing her arms, she felt a shiver run through her body; she was looking forward to getting those blankets…

“That is interesting…perhaps I will have to travel over the Misty Mountains one day to see the rest of your kind for myself.” As the path started to slope downwards, the two females could hear voices echoing up towards them—angry voices. “Hm. It sounds like the prince and Tauriel have found your companions.”

Baylee’s eyes widened, feeling her heart start to race a bit. ‘Oh, I do hope it’s everyone and that none of them are injured,’ she thought, bringing her hair back over her shoulder. ‘After what happened last night—was it last night? Or has it been longer than that?—I don’t want to think about what may have happened to them…’

Just a few minutes later, a group of elves came around a corner; they were led by a male elf who bore a great deal of resemblance to Thranduil and an elf woman with red hair that was so long, it nearly touched the floor. She must have been the ‘Tauriel’ Ithiliel had mentioned. As they approached, the hobbit ducked behind Ithiliel.

The prince and Tauriel came to a stop alongside the two of them. As the prince handed Ithiliel a ring of keys, he began to speak with her in elvish. Baylee peeked out from behind the elf maiden, her nervousness evident on her face and she found herself badly wishing she could understand elvish. Spotting her, Tauriel looked down at her only to give her a gentle smile.

‘She might think I’m only a child, too,’ Baylee thought. ‘I might be able to use that to my advantage somehow.’ As Ithiliel started to walk again, she followed along after her.

“Tauriel will fetch some blankets for you,” said the elf, “though it may take her a bit of time, as she has to report to Thranduil first. Will you be alright until then?”

“I believe so, yes.” When the two of them rounded the corner, Baylee could see that all the cells, which had been empty when she and Thorin were taken to the throne room, were now filled with dwarves. Dwarves who, when they saw the little hobbit, started calling out to her in a mixture of relief and joy.

“Baylee!” Kili called out, shocked to see her. “You’re unhurt!”

“I knew you hadn’t gotten eaten by the spiders!” Fili laughed.

“Do you know where Thorin is, lassie?” Balin questioned.

“How did you even get here?” Dori demanded. “You an’ Thorin just disappeared!”

With everyone trying to talk to her all at once, Baylee found herself growing quite flustered; she _so_ hated being the center of attention. As she tried to come up with answers to all the inquiries, she looked at each cell and its occupants. It seemed the lads had gone through the same treatment as her and Thorin: Most of their clothes—as well as their weapons—had been taken, leaving them in just their essentials.

But nowhere did she see her father, nor could she hear him.

“Enough!” Ithiliel called out, her voice suddenly quite commanding and echoing around the cavern. She let out a soft sigh of relief when the dwarves grew quiet. “Your king is in these dungeons as well. You have no need to worry; he is unhurt.” Without saying anything more, she once again started to lead the hobbit along.

Swallowing hard, Baylee continued to look at the cells, hoping to see a sign of her father. But still, she saw nothing and her stomach started to churn with worry. She did, however, see Bofur gripping the bars of his cell door, a worried expression on his face. ‘He has to know something,’ she told herself.

She tried to walk over to him, but Ithiliel quickly grabbed hold of her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. Looking up at the elf with wide, sad eyes, she said, “He’s my st-stepfather. Can’t I give him a hug be-before you put me back in m-m-my cell? Please?” She did her best to sound a bit sniffly in addition to being cold, which wasn’t hard thanks to the worry filling her.

Ithiliel’s expression softened and, letting go of her shoulder, she nodded. “Do not take too long, little mistress,” she said.

“Th-thank you.” Hurrying forward, she carefully put her arms through the bars and gave Bofur a big hug. “Where’s da’?” she whispered.

Bofur returned the embrace, leaning over slightly so he could whisper back. “I don’t know, lass. I was hopin’ he was with you.” The frown he wore grew larger when he felt her skin. “Mahal’s beard, lass, you’re freezing…”

“Don’t worry about me. Th-they’re fetching some blankets,” she told him, giving him an extra squeeze. “What happened t-t-to you lads? Are any of you hurt?”

“It’s a long story,” he told her. “One that I don’t think our warden is goin’ t’ give me enough time t’ tell. But no, none o’ us are hurt. What about you an’ Thorin? Or do you know if he’s even here?”

She shook her head. “Ne-neither of us are hurt,” she assured him. “Just cold, tired, an-and still starving.”

“Pretty much the same goes for us, too.” He pulled back, but kept his hands on her shoulders as he looked down at her. “I’m sure we’ll find a way out o’ this, lass,” he quietly reassured her, giving her a gentle squeeze. “An’ then we’ll find your da’—if he doesn’t find us first, o’ course.”

Though she didn’t quite believe him, she nodded and put on a smile. “I’m s-sure we will, too.” Her smile then faltered somewhat in confusion as Bofur reached up to remove his hat.

“Here. This should help keep you a wee bit warmer, lass,” he said, plopping the hat atop her head. He couldn’t help but chuckle at how big it was on her; it was almost like seeing a child try to wear it. “I’ll want it back later, though,” he told her, rubbing the top of her head.

Ithiliel walked over, setting her hand on Baylee’s shoulder. “Come, little mistress. We’ve tarried long enough.” There was amusement in her voice; she found it adorable how large the hat was on the little lass.

Nodding, Baylee looked at Bofur and gave him a last smile before walking off. She quietly sighed, hugging herself once more.

As they rounded another corner, Ithiliel glanced down at her. “If you would rather, little mistress, I could put you in the cell with your stepfather instead of with Oakenshield.”

Baylee shook her head. “No, no…it’s best I stay with Th-Thorin. Thank you for the offer, th-though.”

“Why is it best you stay with him instead?” she asked, her brow rising curiously.

“I’m the only one wh-who can get him to behave when he’s in a foul moo-mood.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but she wasn’t about to tell this stranger that it was because she was in love with him. “And with us being stu-stuck here for the foreseeable future, he’s going to be in an _extremely_ foul mood.”

“Why is it that you are the only one?” She pulled a ring of keys from her belt as they approached the last of the cells.

“Be-because being scolded by a tiny ho-hobbit lass is far more humbling than being scolded by one of yo-your dwarven friends.” As she looked in the cell, she could see Thorin sitting against the wall, his legs drawn to his chest and his elbows resting on his knees; his hands covered his face in defeat. The sight made her heart hurt for him.

He didn’t look up as Ithiliel unlocked the door, letting Baylee step into the cell before she closed it and locked it again. “Food and drink will be brought soon,” she said, hearing the clank of the lock falling into place, “as well as your blankets.” Without another word, she turned and headed back up the path.

As soon as the elf was out of view, Baylee went over and knelt beside the king. “Oakenshield?”

“We’ll never make it out of here in time for Durin’s Day,” he said, his voice quiet. “Even if we escaped this cell, this place is too labyrinthine for us to find a way out.” Letting out a heavy sigh, he lowered his hand and lifted his head to look at her only to frown in confusion. “…How did you get Bofur’s hat…?”

“The others were br-brought in,” she explained, a small smile on her lips. As his eyes widened in shock, she reached over, setting her small hand on his cheek.

“When were they brought in? Were you able to see if any of them were injured?” he quickly questioned. His hand came to rest overtop hers, keeping it pressed against his cheek; her cool palm sent a shiver down his spine.

“I believe th-they were brought in within the la-last ten or fifteen minutes,” she answered. “As for injuries, Bo-Bofur told me there were n-none. Fili mentioned something about sp-spiders, though…” She shuddered; part of her was glad she had been brought in before the others since it meant not having to see the spiders for herself. “There…is a sm-small problem, however.”

His brows furrowed. “What is it?”

“Da’s missing.”

“He’s not with them?” She shook her head. “Do they have any idea of where he might be?”

“I don’t know; I di-didn’t have time to ask Bofur many questions.” She let out a small squeak as Thorin unexpectedly picked her up and brought her against his chest once again. Within just a few minutes, the warmth of his body was soaking into her skin, making her sigh in content.

“If your father walks free, then there may yet be a chance of us getting out of here,” he murmured, some hope returning to his voice. “It will definitely be a test for his burglaring skills, though.”

She nodded slowly in agreement, her eyes closing as she nestled her head in the crook of his neck; she was beyond thankful to no longer be shivering. “I just hope he’s not hurt and is able to figure out where we are. I can’t stand to think about him still being lost out in that forest.” She quietly sniffled.

“Your father has a quick wit and a sharp eye about him, Mouse-Lass,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “I have no doubts that he’s uninjured and somewhere nearby.” As he spoke, he stroked her hair; he made a mental note to redo her braids when he realized how unkempt they were by this point. “What did Thranduil question you about?”

“Nothing much.” She let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing a bit against the king; as he held her, she felt her worries and her fears being calmed. They were still there, but she wasn’t as anxious as she had been just a few minutes ago. “He asked me why I was traveling with you, what purpose I served to the group, and then tried to see if I would give him a different account of what transpired in the woods.”

“Hm. He didn’t try to make any bargains with you?”

Shaking her head, she nuzzled into him a bit more. “No. And even if he did, I wouldn’t have taken any of them.”

“Even if it meant securing your freedom?” he asked, a bit of amusement in his voice.

“I still wouldn’t do it.” Her hand rose up, once more beginning to run her fingers along his braid. “I wouldn’t take any deal that kept you behind bars while I walked free.”

Her words brought a tender smile to Thorin’s lips. “Some would call that foolish, you know…giving up your freedom just because one of your friends would remain imprisoned.”

“…I think, by this point, we both know we’re more than just friends, Oakenshield,” she softly told him after a moment’s pause. Unconsciously, she held her breath as she waited to hear what sort of response he would give.

He said nothing at first, merely tilting his head down and, after pushing Bofur’s hat nearly all the way off her head, he kissed her forehead. The wiry hairs of his beard lightly tickled her skin, sending a shiver through her. “You’re right,” he murmured. “We _are_ more than just friends, though we have yet to truly make it official…and, as horrible as this situation is, I find myself quite thankful that you and I got imprisoned together.”

“I’m thankful, too.” As Thorin shifted them both so that he could press his forehead against hers, she closed her eyes in content. “Being with you makes me feel safe and I don’t think I’d feel that way if I was sharing a cell with anyone else.”

He quietly chuckled. “At least I’m good for something while we’re trapped here.” His hand rose up and he brushed his knuckles against her cheek before his palm came to rest on the side of her face. She was such a small creature, he was sometimes afraid to touch her for fear of accidentally hurting her. But, as she had proven over the course of their journey thus far, she was a resilient little thing.

“ _Maralmizun_ , _‘ibinê abnâmul,_ ” he whispered after some moments of silence had passed. Before she could ask what that meant, he translated, “I love you, my beautiful gem.”

The words made her cheeks start burning, but they also brought a smile to her lips. “I love you, too, my Oakenshield.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was definitely one of my favorites to write. Baylee gets to be a proper Mouse-Lass and also gets to be quite adorable~

“Baylee…Baylee, will you _please_ wake up?! Baylee!”

Stirring, Baylee pushed herself up onto her elbow and blearily looked around the cell. She could see no one aside from Thorin, who was lying beside her.

“Baylee! Over here, by the door!”

Her brows furrowed; that…sounded a great deal like her father. “I must be dreaming,” she murmured. Despite her better judgement, however, she stood up, somehow managing to keep the blanket wrapped around herself as she did such. She shuffled her way over to the door of the cell, a hand covering her mouth as she yawned.

From seemingly nowhere, Bilbo stepped in front of the door, making his daughter squeak in surprise. Her eyes widening, she hurried the rest of the way and, not caring about the bars, threw her arms around him.

“Da’, what happened to you?!” She tried to keep her voice to a whisper, but it was hard when so much relief was coursing through her.

“What happened to _me_? More like, what happened to _you_ , young lady!” He hugged her in return, his eyes closing. He held her as close to him as possible, one of his hands resting on the back of her head. “You and Thorin were the ones who vanished from the group. We tried looking for the two of you, but we didn’t get to look long before the spiders came…” He felt her shudder at the mention of spiders.

“We don’t quite know what happened to us,” she explained. “Neither of us remembers anything after reaching the second bonfire. We just…woke up, here in the dungeon.”

He kissed the top of her head and gave her an extra squeeze. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he sighed. “Are either of you hurt?”

“No. Are you? I managed to talk to Bofur for a few minutes and he said there were no injuries that he was aware of. But that was for him and the lads…”

“No, no injuries for me. Surprising, considering we all got caught by the spiders and got cocooned up…”

She stuck her tongue out and shuddered again. “Oh, no, no, _no!_ I’m even more thankful I got caught with Thorin, then.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction. “Yes, be very glad for that.” He then glanced past her when he saw Thorin beginning to stir. “Have the elves treated you well?”

“Yes. They’ve given us food and drink,” she explained, “as well as blankets. Though they have little love for the lads, I’m fairly certain my smallness brings out a bit of a soft spot with the elf maids.”

His brow rose, amused by this information. “And I take it you’ve been using it to your advantage?”

She shook her head. “Only once, when I was being brought back here after questioned. I asked the guard if I could hug Bofur, claiming he was my step-father. That’s how I found out you were missing and that there weren’t any injuries among the others.” As she looked up, she found her father’s face beet red.

“Yo-y-you claimed Bofur was your _step-father_?” he stammered. “And she believed you?”

“Yes.” Shrugging, she smiled innocently. “I know he’s technically my step-father-to-be, but I don’t think I had to be _that_ specific with the guard.”

He cleared his throat and, looking past her again, found that Thorin was standing up and walking over to them. “Ah, Thorin…Sorry for waking you,” he said, choosing to ignore Baylee’s words for now.

“Bilbo…where have you been?” He came to stand alongside Baylee, also keeping himself wrapped up in a blanket. “Mouse-Lass told me that you weren’t among the rest of the company.”

“I managed to slip away before th-the, uh, the elves could figure out I was there,” he explained, seeming to get a bit nervous now. He rubbed the side of his neck. “Then I-I-I followed them into this place and, well…well, I’ve been sneaking about for the last six or so hours.”

Thorin and Baylee exchanged confused glances. “How?” the former asked. “These are the halls of _elves_ , Bilbo. It is impossible for you to not have been caught yet if you’ve been wandering about that long.”

Bilbo fidgeted slightly; Baylee noticed that he had one of his hands in the pocket of his waistcoat and was fiddling with something. “Da’…what do you have in your pocket?” she questioned, brows furrowing.

Knowing he was caught, Bilbo looked a bit more worried now, though he knew he had no reason to be. “Al-alright…I’ll tell you how I’ve been staying hidden,” he sighed, his tone more than a little bit defeated. From his pocket, he drew out a simple, golden ring. “ _This_. I found it when we got caught by the goblins. It-It’s a magic ring. It makes me turn invisible.” As he spoke, he put the ring on his finger and instantly vanished from sight.

“What in Yavanna’s name…” Baylee’s eyes were wide as she reached over, intending to stick her hand through the spot where Bilbo had just been standing. Except, instead of nothing, her hand ended up bumping into something solid.

“Just because I’m invisible, doesn’t mean I can’t be touched, dear,” Bilbo told her. His voice sounded very different—it almost sounded like a distant echo. “Or heard, for that matter.” He pulled the ring off, becoming visible once more. “So, yes, this is how I’ve gone undetected.”

Thorin nodded slowly, his brows still knitted together. “If only we all had magical rings,” he sighed. “Then we could all simply walk out of this place.”

“I _am_ going to be trying my best to come up with a plan, mind you,” Bilbo said, his tone just a bit scolding. “Now, that’s-that’s not to say I’ll be able to come up with one right away, of course. But I _will_ try to think of something.” Reaching through the bars, he gave his daughter another hug. “I have to go now. I don’t want to risk being out in the open like this for too long. Like you said, these are the halls of elves.” He kissed the top of her head and gave her an extra squeeze. “I _will_ get you out of here,” he quietly promised her.

“I know you will, da’,” she murmured, returning the squeeze.

Stepping back, Bilbo then pointed a stern finger up at Thorin. “And you—you best make sure my daughter doesn’t get herself in trouble with that wit of hers. The last thing we need is for her to get sassy with the wrong elf…”

Thorin chuckled, his brow rising. “I will do my best, though I cannot make any promises.”

Baylee was about to say something in protest to the accusation, but as she opened her mouth, she instead ended up yawning. A few seconds later, Thorin yawned and, a few seconds after him, Bilbo did, too.

“You two should get more rest,” Bilbo told them, speaking through the last bit of his yawn. “I’ll be doing the same—I managed to find a warm nook close to the kitchens where I won’t get caught.”

Nodding, Baylee gave him a halfhearted smile. “Be careful, da’.”

“I will, dear.” He kissed the top of her head again before vanishing as he put his ring back on.

The two returned to their sleeping spot, curling up on the stone floor once more. Thorin gently pulled Baylee to his chest, protectively wrapping his arm around her. “Your father has a good head on his shoulders,” he murmured. “With that ring of his, I’m sure he will find a way to get us out of this miserable place.

She nodded in agreement, nuzzling her head under her chin. “I know he will. He’s my da’, after all…He’s good at coming up with plans, even if everyone else may not catch on at first.” She frowned slightly, hearing voices in the distance. Unable to tell if they were elven or dwarven, though, she chose to instead ignore them and start trying to fall back asleep.

A small smile came to Thorin’s lips and, closing his eyes, he started to absentmindedly stroke her hair. “Get some more sleep, Mouse-Lass,” he told her, voice soft. “Mahal knows we don’t have much else to do.”

Quietly chuckling, Baylee pulled her blanket a bit closer to her chin. Her mind was just starting to grow fuzzy when a voice at the door of their cell startled them both. As Thorin shot upright, a glare on his face, she pushed herself up more slowly. When she looked at the door, she found Tauriel standing there.

“What do you want?” Thorin demanded.

“I have orders to move the little mistress to a different cell,” she answered, putting the key in the lock.

“Wh-what?! Why?!” Baylee squeaked. She felt Thorin pull her against him, both arms wrapping around her.

“Lord Thranduil has ordered it.” She opened the door, waiting for Baylee to come over. “I do not want to use magic on either of you,” she then said, a bit of pity in her eyes, “so please, let her come without fight, Lord Oakenshield.”

Biting her lower lip, Baylee looked up at Thorin, finding his jaw clenched tight and his eyes narrowed. “Th-Thorin, it’s alright,” she told him, her voice quiet. “I’ll be just around the corner with the others.”

He was silent for a moment and, just when it seemed like he wasn’t going to release her, his hold on her relaxed somewhat. “If I find out that _anything_ unsavory has happened to you…”

“We are not orcs, Lord Oakenshield,” Tauriel told him, her voice bland. “We do not torture our prisoners, no matter how much we may dislike them.”

Baylee swallowed hard as she got to her feet, keeping the blanket around her. Still biting her lower lip, she started to walk forward. Once she was out of the cell, she turned and found Thorin sitting where she had left him, his jaw still clenched; she couldn’t help but notice that it _almost_ seemed to be wobbling slightly.

Once the cell door was shut and locked once more, Tauriel started to guide her up the path. “You are to have your own cell,” she told her, voice gentle. “Some extra blankets have been provided as well, since there will be no one to share their body heat with you.”

She swallowed a bit hard. “Do—do the lads also have extra blankets?”

“We offered, but they refused. They said that one was enough.” She looked down at the hobbit, finding that she still wore a look of fear and uncertainty. “…You and Lord Oakenshield are close, then?”

“…You could say that, I suppose.” She wasn’t quite sure why, but it almost felt like Tauriel had an air of curiosity about her; it shouldn’t have surprised her, though, given that she was probably the first hobbit the elf maid had ever seen. Holding the blanket with one hand, she made to pull her braid over her shoulder only to find that, while she slept, Thorin had undone her hair. ‘He was probably struggling to get to sleep himself,’ she thought, ‘so he thought he’d try to do my hair. Doesn’t seem like he got very far, though.’

They came around another bend and Baylee could see the lads in their cells. Bofur’s was closet and she would have risked asking to go hug him again as well as return his hat, but she found that he was fast asleep. Her cell, however, wasn’t very far from his; in fact, it was between Bofur’s cell and Fili’s cell. She looked around while Tauriel unlocked the door, finding that most of the lads were asleep. Many of them, she found, were wrapped up in a blanket, though someone (she guessed Bifur) had tied their blanket to the bars of their door, turning it into a curtain.

“Little mistress.” She looked back at Tauriel, finding her standing beside an open door.

With a defeated sigh, she walked past the elf maid into the cell. It was smaller than the one she had shared with Thorin, but this one had a ledge where the extra blankets had been laid out, almost like a bed. Hearing the creak of the door closing behind her, she turned around to watch Tauriel.

“M-Miss Tauriel?” she asked. “What’s the real reason I’m being given my own cell?”

At first, Tauriel didn’t answer her, making Baylee think she hadn’t heard her. But, after locking the door once more and withdrawing the key from the lock, she brushed a bit of hair behind her ear. “It is Lord Thranduil’s wishes. He does not want Lord Oakenshield to have any contact with the rest of his company. Not to mention, you are a female and he is a male. Such an arrangement is not very appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Oh…Well, I suppose the latter of the two does make sense,” she admitted with a sigh of defeat. “I don’t like either reasoning, of course, but at least one of them is understandable.”

“You should get some more rest, little mistress,” Tauriel said, turning to leave. “From the looks of it, you’ve had a long and hard journey, but despite being imprisoned, you’re safe here.” She gave the hobbit a pitying smile before walking off.

“My name is Baylee,” she murmured, knowing full well that Tauriel could still hear her. She leaned forward slightly, resting her head against the cool metal of one of the bars. ‘I can sleep, but I don’t know how much of it will actually be restful now,’ she thought. ‘I hope da’ finds a way to get us out of here sooner rather than later. I know it’s a difficult task, given how many of us there are and that we’re in an underground palace…’ As she stood there, her forehead started to slide against the metal a bit. ‘But, like Thorin said, da’ has a good head on his shoulders. If anyone can come up with a plot to get us out of here, it would be—'

A small squeak left her mouth as her head slipped entirely off the bar, making her fall forward. She managed to catch herself before she could fall too far. Her brow then rose and her heart started to beat a bit faster; she was sideways and hanging out of the cell. It was a bit of a snug fit, but her head and shoulders, at the very least, could fit through painlessly. She quickly looked to her left, seeing Tauriel’s retreating form climbing a short staircase. Not wanting the elf to see her like this, she pushed herself back upright—and back into the cell.

‘If my top half fits between the bars,’ she thought, going over to the makeshift bed, “then my lower half might fit as well. And if that’s the case…I might be able to slip out and do some sneaking around of my own.’ After scrunching one of the spare blankets up into a cushion for her head, she curled up. ‘Of course, without my own magic ring, it’ll be quite a bit more dangerous…’

Closing her eyes, she let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’m the company’s Mouse-Lass for a reason though, and it’s even written in my job description that one of my duties is to do a bit of sneaking and spying. And with how big this place is, da’ could use a bit of help exploring…But I shouldn’t get my hopes up. My hips are a bit on the wide side, so they may keep me from slipping through. And my stays can only flatten my chest so much…I suppose I’ll find out come morning—or whatever time of day it is when I wake up.’

* * *

“I’ll trade you my cheese for your meat!”

“Why would I give up my meat just for some cheese?”

“Oi! I’ll trade you meat for cheese!”

“Of course you would, Bombur!”

“Thanks, Bombur!”

Baylee’s brows furrowed as she started to wake up. With how cheery the lads’ voices were, it made her momentarily forget that they were imprisoned. But, as she sat up, yawning and stretching, the reality of their situation came crashing back down on her, full force. She very nearly let herself just flop backwards and go back to sleep, but as she spied a tray of food and drink sitting on the floor of her cell, her stomach growled loudly.

Slipping out of the makeshift bed, she shivered as her feet hit the floor. She kept the blanket around herself as she shuffled over towards the door, crouching down to retrieve the tray.

“’Ey! Baylee’s finally awake!” she heard Kili call out.

“What’re you doing over here, lassie? You’re supposed t’ be sharing a cell with Thorin!” Balin questioned. As she stood upright, she found that his cell was directly across from hers.

“How’s uncle doing?” Fili then asked. “Thranduil hasn’t had him tortured or anything, has he?”

“Have you heard anythin’ about Bilbo yet?” Dori questioned.

“Do you know if they’re going to torture us?” Ori asked, his voice wobbly.

“What happened t’ the two o’ you out in the forest?” Dwalin demanded.

“Will you all just _shush_ for a moment, please?” she called out, taking the dwarves by surprise. What surprised _her_ was that they had fallen silent. “I _just_ woke up and my brain is still fuzzy with sleep.” Sighing, she sat herself down against the wall beside the door and took a small drink from the large tankard; she found its contents to be weak ale.

“No torture has taken place, nor will any take place. Neither of us is injured, either, so you don’t have to worry about that,” she called out after a moment. “I have my own cell now because Thranduil doesn’t want Thorin to have contact with any of us _and_ because I’m a lass. He thinks it’s inappropriate for us to share a cell.” She could hear some murmurs of agreement from the others. Picking up the small loaf of bread, she tore it in half and then in half again before taking a bite.

“…And what about the forest?” Dwalin asked.

“And Bilbo?” Dori pipped up.

Balin shot a look at him; his and Ori’s cell was on the other side of Fili’s. “Give her a moment. The lass just took a bite o’ bread.”

Taking another drink of ale, she tilted her head back against the wall. “Neither of us is quite sure what happened to us in the forest. We can’t remember anything past reaching the second bonfire. It was like we had just reached it, the light went out, and we woke up in that cell.” She grabbed a piece of meat—ham, from the looks and smell of it—and folded it in half before taking a bite. After swallowing, she continued. “Thorin and I _have_ heard from da’, but I don’t want to go into too much detail, given that there might be elves close enough to hear us. Just know that he’s alright and unhurt.”

“Good,” she heard Bofur sigh in relief.

Balin nodded in agreement. “At least Master Baggins is unhurt. That’s what matters most.”

“Except we’re the ones trapped behind these bars!” Gloin argued. “Durin’s Day just over two months away. If we’re trapped in here, we’re not goin’ to be able to make it to the mountain in time!”

“We need t’ be patient,” Fili told him. “We’re in a very delicate situation. One wrong move could make things even more disastrous for us an’ that’s the _last_ thing we need right now.” He was able to poke his head through the bars of his cell, allowing him to peek over into Baylee’s. “Baylee, do you know if Thranduil tried to make any deals with uncle?”

Having just taken a bite of ham and bread, she nodded. Quickly chewing the bite and swallowing it, she told him, “There are jewels inside the mountain that he wants. He told Thorin that, in exchange for those jewels, he’d offered freedom and his help.”

Balin suddenly groaned, his hand rising to his forehead. “Mahal help us…”

Kili poked his head between his cell, too. “What’s wrong, Balin?”

“Those gems…they’re the whole reason we’re in this mess in the first place,” he explained. “Thranduil originally commissioned those jewels from Thror’s personal jeweler, but once they were finished, the two kings had a disagreement over them. The elves claim we kept them out of greed while the dwarves claim they weren’t paid the full amount for their work.”

“Well, who was right, then?” Bofur questioned, his brow rising.

“No one knows,” Balin sighed, shaking his head. “Not even I know and I’ve been close with the royal family since Thrain and I were wee bairns. “But whatever the cause, Thranduil did not get the jewels. And when Smaug attacked Erebor…Thranduil took his grudge out on all our people. He refused t’ help us an’ instead turned his army towards Dale an’ helped them instead.”

Baylee nodded slowly, though she said nothing, as she already knew this story. It felt like Fili had told it to her months ago when, in fact, it had been just about three weeks ago. Closing her eyes again, she took another bite of ham; she wasn’t sure if it was because she was so hungry or if it truly tasted such, but the ham was some of the best she had had.

‘Then again,’ she thought, ‘they _are_ elves. They seem to be good at everything.’ She rested her head against the iron of the door as she took a bite of bread. Though she badly wanted to eat all of the food as fast as she could, she resisted. With her stomach still getting used to having food in it after four or five days, she knew that eating too fast would leave her feeling sick.

Opening her eyes, she looked outside her cell. Specifically, she followed the pathway with her eyes, seeing how it far it went before it went around a corner. She then looked at the cells on the opposite side of the cavern in order to see who was imprisoned closest to that bend; occasionally, she was taken by surprise when a chunk of bread or some cheese went flying across the way.

‘It looks like Nori and Bifur are the ones who’re closest. Which means they can be lookouts if I do manage to squeeze my way through the bars. But do the guards only come from that direction? Or do they also come from the other direction?’ Her brows furrowed at the thought. ‘If they do, then that’s going to make things even trickier.’ She leaned forward, reaching for her ale.

“Is everything alright, Baylee?” Fili asked. As she looked up, she found that he still had his head poking out of his cell; he could just _barely_ see her from his angle. “You look concerned.”

“…I am, to be honest,” she admitted. “I need to know which direction the guards come from.”

“Why?” he asked, brow rising.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she then warned, “but there’s a chance I _might_ be able to squeeze my way through the bars of my cell.”

His eyes widened. “Are you serious? You think you’re _that_ small?” The gap between the bars wasn’t very big, after all. But Baylee wasn’t a stocky dwarf—she was petite even for a hobbit.

“I honestly don’t know, but if I can, it means I might be able to do some sneaking around of my own.” A bit of movement caught her attention and she looked up the pathway in time to see a pair of guards—neither of whom were Tauriel—making their way towards the prisoners; she was surprised to find that they both held pitchers. ‘Maybe they’re not actually guards? Maybe they’re servants on their way to get some ale or wine for the king?’ she thought. Just in case, however, she tucked her unfinished bread and cheese away in her pockets while continuing to nibble at the ham.

The two elves, it turned out, _weren’t_ guards, but they were there to collect the empty trays and tankards from the prisoners. However, they didn’t take all the tankards—some they refilled and let the dwarves keep.

As one of the elves came towards Baylee’s cell, she stood up so the elf wouldn’t have to lean over as far to grab the tray and fill her mug. She knew it was a silly thing to do, since she was a prisoner, but she would much rather be on the elves’ good side should something happened.

“Ex-excuse me?” she said as the elf stopped at her cell. “I-I know it’s a bit of an odd question, but do you happen to know when the guards will be checking up on us again?”

The elf raised his brow at her. “Why do you ask, little mistress?” he questioned as he took her tray. His voice, understandably, bore an air of caution to it.

She shrugged lightly and held her mug up to be refilled. “I-I was hoping I could talk with Miss Tauriel or Miss Ithiliel. It’s been—well, it’s been some months since I last talked with another lass…” Watching as her mug was filled with more ale, she said, “That’s enough, thank you.”

The elf let out a quiet sigh. “I’m not supposed to tell you this,” he said, his voice quiet, “but the guards will be by to check on you in about three hours. I do not know whether it will be Ithiliel or Tauriel with them, however.”

Nodding in understanding, she gave the elf a grateful smile. “Thank you very much, sir,” she replied.

When he nodded and turned away to retrieve Bofur’s tray, she could see the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

‘Alright…so, once these two leave, I have about three hours to do some exploring _if_ I can get out of my cell.’ Carefully carrying her mug, she went over to the ledge, where she set it down before climbing up. She grabbed a second blanket and wrapped herself up in it only to frown in realization. ‘I won’t be able to bring a blanket with me, which means I’m going to get cold.’ Her nose scrunched up and she let herself flop sideways onto her makeshift pillow. ‘I hope I don’t shiver hard enough that my teeth chatter…’

She remained under the blankets for nearly a quarter of an hour, giving the elves plenty of time to gather up all the trays and any tankards. It also gave her a chance to think over her harebrained idea a bit more; she decided that, should she be able to squeeze through the bars, she wouldn’t go exploring too far away from the cells.

‘If I don’t go too far, it will give me plenty of time to hurry back if need be.’ After taking a drink of her ale, she slid back out from beneath the covers. Almost instantly, she shivered at the sudden temperature change, but it wasn’t enough to make her teeth chatter just yet.

“Fili?” she said, poking her head out through the bars.

Barely a second later and he had popped his head through the bars as well. “Aye?”

“Since I’m not very loud, can you ask Nori if he sees anyone coming down the pathway for me, please? I’m going to try to squeeze out of my cell and I don’t want a guard or someone to catch me.”

A hopeful grin came to his lips. “Oi, Nori!”

“What?” Nori’s head poked out from his cell.

Baylee watched as Fili started to use the dwarvish sign language, Iglishmêk, to ‘talk’ to him. The two exchanged signs for a few moments; a few of the others who had been watching made sounds of interest, so she could only assume he had told Fili her idea.

“Alright. He’s keepin’ an eye out for us,” Fili said after a moment. “He’ll whistle twice if he sees anyone.”

“Thank you.” Glancing around, she found that many of the dwarves were now watching her; her stomach churned with nerves. ‘I hate being the center of attention,’ she thought.

With a sigh, she lightly shook her head before moving to try and squeeze through the bars. Though her head and shoulders squeezed through just fine, her chest stopped her from going any further. Pouting, she did her best to squirm her way through, but when it got too painful, she brought herself back into the cell. Then, exhaling as much as she could, she tried again. It was still to no avail, however, and she could hear some disappointed groans from the others.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Baylee,” Bofur gently scolded. “If you can’t get out, then you can’t get out an’ that’s all there is to it.”

“There’s one more thing I’m going to try,” she told him. “It’s just going to take me a few moments to do.”

Fili’s brow rose. “…What’re you going t’ do, then? Douse yourself in ale an’ see if that helps you squeeze through?”

She paused, her own brow slowly rising. “No. That’d just be a waste of ale. What I _am_ going to do, however, is tighten my stays.” Her cheeks grew hot as she went to the back of her cell.

“Stays? What’re stays?” he questioned, his brows now furrowing in confusion.

“They’re part o’ a woman’s undergarments. They squeeze the torso, makin’ a lass’ waist an’ breasts look smaller,” Bofur explained. “They’re not so common among dwarven folk, but very common among humans.”

“An’ just how do _you_ know about lady’s undergarments?” Dori asked, his tone a bit accusing.

“Calm down, Dori,” Kili snorted. “He _just_ told you some dwarrow dames wear them.”

Baylee shook her head as she wrapped herself up in a blanket before tying it in place like a cloak. Continuing to face the wall, she started to undo the lacing on the front of her dress; she didn’t undo them entirely, as she didn’t want to go through the hassle of redoing them. With the laces loose, she managed to push the front panel of the dress aside, revealing the stays beneath.

“Everything alright in there, Baylee?” Fili asked, a bit of concern in his voice. “You didn’t tighten them too much, did you?”

“I haven’t even gotten that far yet,” she chuckled, her brow rising once again. “I only _just_ got the top of my dress undone.”

She could hear a couple of shocked gasps, followed by Gloin scolding her. “You do that top right back up, young lady! If your father hears that you were undressin’—”

“Don’t worry, lads,” Balin interjected, laughing. “Do you honestly think Miss Baggins would undress herself like that in front o’ so many o’ us? Of course not! She’s got herself wrapped up in a blanket, for Mahal’s sake!”

Baylee couldn’t help but giggle, her brow rising once more as she started to untie the laces of her stays; she found it a bit sweet how they were concerned about her modesty. ‘Even though they’ve seen me in my stays and petticoats before,’ she thought. ‘Then again, I was mostly wrapped up in Thorin’s overcoat for that.’

With the laces untied, she started the arduous process of getting them to tighten up evenly. Even though it was her chest she wanted to compress, she knew it could be dangerous for her if she made one part tighter than another. She found herself rather surprised when she got it to close up more than she was expecting; she must’ve lost some weight over the last few weeks. She was also taken aback by how much more comfortable the stays felt now that they had been tightened up.

‘The trick is seeing how comfortable they are when it’s time to sleep…’ She put the front panel of her dress back into place before redoing those laces. Looking down at her chest, she saw that it looked at least a few centimeters smaller.

“How’s it going, lass?” Bofur asked.

“I’m done, actually.” Taking the blanket off of her, she walked back towards the door.

“You don’t _look_ any different,” Fili commented, his brows furrowed once more.

Kili snorted. “What’re you talkin’ about, Fi? I can see the difference from here!”

Baylee’s cheeks burned at his words. “You’re lucky you’re all the way over there or I’d smack you,” she told him, wagging a scolding finger at him. She then blinked, watching as a hunk of cheese went flying across the way, smacking right into the top of Kili’s head.

“There you go, lass!” Ori chirped. “I got him for you.”

“Thank you, Ori,” she giggled, watching Kili rub the top of his head as he stooped down to pick up the cheese. “Is the way still clear?”

Bifur’s head poked out of the cell, his eyes squinting slightly. Looking at Fili, he started to speak in Khuzdul to the prince.

“He says it’s clear,” Fili translated.

Nodding, she sighed and mentally prepared herself for a possible third failure. But, as she soon found out, tightening her stays had done the trick. She stepped through the bars, her torso _just_ small enough to pass through the bars now, though she did have to work a little bit to get her hips and hindquarters past the bars.

“Aha! Good job, lass!” Bofur grinned. The others, he heard, were being surprisingly quiet as they cheered her on.

Brushing herself off, she instinctively tried to push her petticoats back into place. She quickly remembered she had none, however, and sighed. “Now time to do a bit of exploring…If someone starts coming, have Nori whistle extra loud, alright? I’m not going to go _too_ far this time around.”

Fili nodded. “You’ll be checkin’ on uncle, too, right?”

“I am,” she replied with a nod. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell him?”

“Just that the rest o’ us are doing alright. I’m keeping an eye on everyone t’ make sure they don’t get us further into trouble.”

“I can do that,” she smiled.

He chuckled, returning the smile. “Thanks, _Auntie_ Baylee.”

Her cheeks grew hot and she pouted at him; behind her, Bofur was snickering. “What did I tell you about calling me that?” she scolded, one hand on her hip while the other wagged a finger at him.

Fili burst out laughing as he watched her, nearly toppling backwards. And he wasn’t the only one. Balin, Dori, Bofur, and Kili were laughing heartily at her scolding. Shaking her head, Baylee sighed and started to march off down the path.

‘If I were just a few inches taller, he wouldn’t find me quite as amusing,’ she thought. After tucking a bit of hair behind her ear, she wrapped her arms around herself. Though it was still cold down in the dungeons, it wasn’t _as_ cold, she noticed. ‘I wonder how they managed that…or maybe I’m just imagining things? I would expect it to be pretty hard to heat a place of this size.’

A quiet sigh left her mouth as she came to the first corner. Pressing herself against the wall, she carefully peeked around the edge; seeing no one, she continued to walk. Soon, Thorin’s cell came into view and she quickened her pace. She also found that the path was a dead end, leading straight into a solid rock wall.

When she reached the cell, she found Thorin curled up in almost the same spot as when she left. He had one knee pulled to his chest, his hands and forehead resting atop it. An ache came to her heart as she saw him.

“Oakenshield?” she softly called over to him, not wanting to startle him. When he didn’t acknowledge her, she called his name again, a little louder this time.

Still, he didn’t move.

Biting her lower lip, she squeezed through the bars and walked over to him. She knelt on the ground beside him before reaching over and gently shaking his shoulder. “Oakenshield?”

His head suddenly snapped up and he looked around with wide eyes, his whole body tensing up. When he spotted her, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Mouse-Lass…? How in Mahal’s name—?”

A bit of a cheeky smile came to her lips. “It would seem that I can fit through the bars of the door.”

“Do you know how much trouble you could get in if someone were to catch you?” he scolded. Despite his tone, he pulled her against him, hugging her. “They would think that you were trying to escape and give you a punishment worse than being in a jail cell.”

“The others are keeping watch for me,” she assured him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, a content sigh leaving her mouth. “And this is a dead end, so there’s only one direction the guards can come from.”

He nodded slowly in understanding, though a frown remained on his lips. “I still don’t like that you’re being this risky, but I can’t say I’m not happy to see you.” Kissing the top of her head, he started to stroke her hair. “How’re the others doing? Have you had any more word from your father?”

“No in regards to da’, but everyone else is faring well enough. Fili is doing a good job of keeping an eye on them and making sure they behave themselves—for the most part.” Leaning back slightly, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his. “They’re all worried about you.”

“And I am worried about them,” he murmured, his eyes also closing. “I heard them earlier…their voices echoed down this way. But I couldn’t make out what they were saying or

A soft giggle left her mouth. “That was them trading their food around. Some wanted more bread, others more meat—but no one was willing to trade their meat for anything aside from Bombur. He was trying to get everyone’s cheese.”

He snorted, relieved to hear that everyone else was doing well. “I see he’s unaffected by our predicament, then.”

“Or, perhaps, he’s extra thankful to finally have food again. I know I was.” She nuzzled his cheek with her nose. “Despite everything, they seem to be in relatively good spirits. More so now that they know you and da’ are unhurt.”

“You told them about Bilbo?”

“Not entirely. I did tell them that da’ is unhurt and isn’t imprisoned, but I didn’t tell them about his ring or how he’s wandering about, invisible. I was afraid that a guard might overhear if I spoke too loudly about it.”

“That was smart of you.” He smiled, feeling her hand come to rest on his cheek. “How did you manage to squeeze through the bars? They look too narrow, even for a tiny Mouse-Lass like yourself.”

At that, she chuckled. “I needed to compress myself a bit, so I tightened my stays.”

His brow rose and he murmured, “And how did you manage _that_ without getting seen? These cells have no privacy.”

“Don’t worry; not only did I keep my back to the door, I had a blanket tied around me like a cape. And my stays lace in the front, so I didn’t have to entirely remove my dress in order to adjust them.” She quietly giggled once more when she heard him make a small sound of acknowledgement. As she opened her eyes, she studied his face, seeing the slight changes that came with months of stressful traveling. Most notably, he had a bit more grey in his beard than when they first met back in Bag End; a few locks of his hair, too, were beginning to turn grey.

‘Strange to think that he’s already greying,’ she thought. ‘I’ve always known he’s much, _much_ older than me, but I never really realized just _how_ much older he is. But our races age differently, so he probably still has four or five decades left at _least_. And if that’s the case, should all go well with this quest, we’d be able to grow old together…’

Thorin’s eyes opened only to find a tender smile on her lips as she watched him. He smiled in return and raised his hand, letting it rest on her cheek. “ _‘Ibinê abnâmul,_ ” he whispered. Unconsciously, his head started to tilt forward, closing the space between them; Baylee could feel her heart beginning to race as he drew closer and closer. He was only a hairsbreadth away—

Two loud whistles suddenly echoed down the cavern. She gasped and jumped in shock, looking over her shoulder at the door. “That’s Nori’s signal,” she told him. There was reluctance in her eyes as she turned back towards him. “I need to go.”

Despite being filled with disappointment, he nodded. “I understand. Go—I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

She gave him an apologetic smile as she stood up. Giving him a small kiss on the temple, she hurried back towards the door and squeezed herself through before sprinting back up the path. Her nose scrunched up as she forced her way through the bars of her cell.

“Uncle’s cell must not be very far away,” Fili commented, a brow raised as he poked his head out of his cell. “You got back fairly quickly.”

“He’s about fifty feet from the bend over there,” she explained, brushing herself off. “It’s also a dead end in that direction.”

“Hm. That’s going t’ make things a bit complicated for your exploring, isn’t it?”

“A little bit, yes. I just hope elves aren’t as quiet in their halls as when they’re around non-elves.” Going over to her makeshift bed, Baylee grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped herself up in it before going back over to the door. “Does Nori know how many guards are coming?”

A bit of a sheepish grin came to Fili’s lips. “Ah, about that…”

Her brow rose. “Yes…?”

“There…actually aren’t any guards coming.” He watched as she pursed her lips in a pout. “We wanted to make sure you could still hear us!” he quickly said. “We don’t know how well sound travels through this place, after all. For all we knew, Uncle’s cell was on a different floor.”

A heavy sigh left her mouth and she nodded in acquiesce. “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted. “I wish you had waited a few minutes longer, however.”

At that, his brow rose and a teasing grin came to his lips. “Oh? And why is that, _Auntie_ Baylee? Were you an’ uncle gettin’ a wee bit cozy?” He started to snicker as he watched her cheeks turn as red as beets.

“N-No! I’ll have you know, we were discussing how you lot were doing while I was also getting scolded for leaving my cell,” she told him, though she spoke just a bit too firmly for him to entirely believe her.

“Then why are you so red?” There was a cheeky grin on his face as he watched her. “Surely, if you two were just talkin’, there’d be no reason for you t’ be so red.”

The pout remained on her face. She badly wanted to tell him off, but at the same time, she knew it would be a fruitless endeavor: He would find it too hilarious and just keep laughing. As such, she simply turned away from him and went to go crawl back into ‘bed’.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas~! Enjoy an early update <3

Bilbo was getting tired of elvish food.

At least, he was getting tired of the kinds of food he would risk nicking from the kitchens. Though he would wait until the cooks had left for the night, he never allowed himself to steal food that he knew would be used for entrées or desserts. That left him to browse from a selection of lesser quality foods that would mostly be eaten as snacks by servants. And, despite his large appetite, he made sure to only take enough to fill the pockets of his coat.

‘If I were just a bit more plucky, I’d risk using the last embers of the fires to roast a sausage or two,’ he thought, taking a bite out of an apple. ‘In fact, I wish I _was_ pluckier. But no…I’m too cautious. And because of that, I’m on my fifth apple, eighth piece of waybread, and who knows how many handfuls of nuts in just two days…’

Once he finished eating the apple, he stood up and followed the path away from his little hiding nook. Poking his head around a corner, he made sure no one was in the hallway before stepping out and making his way towards the open section of the palace. He didn’t know how long he had been in this place, but he _did_ know that it was long enough to have learned where the kitchen, dungeon, throne room, and cellars were. He had stumbled across a few random places during his exploration, but they hadn’t been worth remembering.

None of those places had given any ideas on how to get the others out of this place in a safe manner. 

‘I’d go visit the others, but I know they’d just ask me if I’ve come up with anything yet and every time I tell them I haven’t, they look more and more hopeless. I’m trying though. Yavanna knows I’m trying. But…I do miss Bofur and Baylee and I know they miss me. Poor Bofur, especially.’ He didn’t know how much time had passed between their arrival and now, but something told him it was well over a week.

Finally reaching the open portion of the palace, he walked to the edge of the path—well, _almost_ to the edge. Being afraid of heights, he never got too close so he wouldn’t have to peer down into the river below. Instead, he simply tossed the apple core into the middle of the ravine before turning and starting to follow the path in the direction of the dungeons.

Soon, however, he hurried over to the wall and pressed himself against it when he saw a pair of elves coming his way. As they drew closer, he realized he recognized one of them: Tauriel. He was surprised to see her so far away from the dungeons; he had come to learn that she was captain of Thranduil’s guard, and was the one who oversaw the treatment of any and all prisoners in the dungeons.

The two were entirely oblivious to his presence as they walked right by him, chatting away in some elvish dialect. He badly wished he could understand them; all the forms of elvish he had heard throughout his life (which, admittedly, wasn’t very many) had always sounded like music to his ears. It took some effort to keep himself from following the two just to eavesdrop on their conversation, even if their voices were a bit hard to hear thanks to his magic ring. When he wore it—which was practically all the time—he was left in a sort of in-between world: Colors were muted, voices were little more than echoes, and shadows were eerily long and seemed to move about.

Once they were out of sight, he continued on his way, knowing he had quite a way to go before he had to make any turns. He tucked his hands in his pockets, wishing he could whistle or hum or sing to himself. Though he normally enjoyed the quiet, this place could be _too_ quiet. Everywhere else, there would be some sort of ambient noise in the background—a crackling fire, a sizzling frying pan, tweeting birds, the distance singing of one of his neighbors…

But in here? Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

He _hated_ it. Not only was it unnerving, but it also left him feeling a bit paranoid that someone would hear his footsteps or his breathing, no matter how quiet he was. The only good thing about the silence was how it allowed him to hear anyone who might be approaching from around a corner—if they were talking, that is. There had been a time or two, however, when he had rounded a corner only to miss bumping into someone by mere inches because they had been silent.

As he passed by a hallway that he knew to branch off towards the throne room, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Thinking it had just been a passing elf, he continued on his way. Until, that is, he realized that the movement had been too low in his vision to be an elf. Quickly backing up, he was in time to catch a flash of pale, yellow fabric dart down an adjacent hallway.

‘That better not be who I think it is,’ he thought, hurrying after the person. ‘And if it _is_ who I think it is, then she is in _big_ trouble!’

Sprinting over to the opening of the hallway, he nearly let out a curse and pressed himself against the wall as a group of six elves came down the hall. Between them, they carried a large pig (or was it a small boar?) that had been tied to a board. As he looked down the hallway, though, he could see no one else, let alone anything pale yellow in color.

That is, until the elves were had turned the corner and disappeared from sight. The moment they were gone, Baylee appeared from nowhere just feet away from him—almost like she had her own magic ring. The suddenness of her appearance startled him enough that he _almost_ swore out loud.

Instead, he harshly whispered, “Baylee Baggins! What do you think you’re doing!?”

She squeaked and spun around, looking around for the source of the voice. “D-da’…?” she whispered back, her brows furrowed.

“ _Yes_ , it’s me,” he said, walking towards her so he didn’t have to whisper quite so loudly. “H-how in the world are you out of your cell? And just _what_ do you think you’re doing so far from the dungeons?!”

Her lips pursed in a small pout. “I can squeeze through the bars of the cell doors,” she explained. “As such, I’m doing my duty as the company’s Mouse-Lass by doing a bit of sneaking and spying.” As she whispered, she kept twisting and turning her head, using both her eye and her ears to search for anyone who may be approaching.

“Does Thorin know you’re doing this?” He groaned when she nodded. “Wh-wha-why is he allowing you to do this?! Do you know how much trouble you could get into if you were to get caught?”

“Of course I know, da’. That’s why I’m _sneaking_.”

“Well, you’re done now,” he scolded. Taking hold of her hand, he started to march back the way they had come. “You’re going back to your cell, where it’s _safe._ I won’t have my daughter risking her neck just for a-a-a bit of sneaking about!” He was taking her back towards the open path.

Realizing this, she pulled against him a bit. “We can’t go that way, da’!” she told him, her nose scrunching up slightly.

“And why not?” he questioned, glancing over his shoulder. He wore an extremely fatherly look, though Baylee didn’t see any of it.

“Because there have been people coming and going from the cellars all day!” As Bilbo let go of her wrist, she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted at him. “That’s why I’m up here. Tauriel mentioned some sort of feast that’s coming up, though she wouldn’t tell me much more about it. I’m trying to figure out what the feast is for and if we could find a way to get the others out of their cells while everyone’s distracted by said feast.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Tauriel talks with you?”

“Sometimes…surprisingly, she mostly talks with Kili. Ithiliel is the one I talk with mostly.” A quiet sigh left her mouth as she once more started to look around in order to make sure they were alone. “But I haven’t seen her in a few days. …Well, I _think_ it’s been a few days. It’s quite hard to judge time down here.”

“Wa-wait, wait, _wait_. The elves have been talking with you?” he questioned. “As in full conversations that don’t involve questioning you about our adventure?” She nodded again. “Why are they talking with you? You’re a prisoner…captors don’t normally socialize with their prisoners.”

She looked up at him (at least, where she _thought_ he was) with a small pout on her face, but it was no ordinary pout. Bilbo recognized this expression all too well: She had used it hundreds of times over the years to try and persuade him to let her have or do something she normally wasn’t allowed.

And almost every single time, it made him relent.

“It’s been _so_ long since I last had any lasses to talk to,” she told him, her voice a bit disappointed in tone and her eyes extremely sad. “I’ve only had a bunch of males for conversation…and those conversations are almost always about the same things: Battles, women, and drinking. It gets ever so tedious having to listen to the same thing over and over again.”

Bilbo stared at her for a moment before putting a hand over his mouth, stifling his laughter. “After all these years, you’re still very convincing with those puppy eyes of yours,” he said. He watched as a cheeky grin came to her lips.

“It helps that I’m small.” She tilted her head slightly, a look of concentration coming to her face. Before Bilbo could ask what was wrong, she was turning around and heading down the hall. “There are people coming.” She started to lead him back down the hall before ducking into the side corridor where she had come from.

Bilbo followed after her, curious as to what path she took to get this far; he certainly hadn’t been on this route before. He wasn’t very fond of how narrow the corridor was, though. It was barely wide enough for three people to walk alongside one another. ‘It would be a miracle if we weren’t caught should a small group of elves come walking this way,’ he thought, frowning.

Luckily, his worries weren’t realized, as the halls remained clear. He was still left amazed that there weren’t guards posted at the entrance of the dungeons; the elves were _that_ confident no dwarf would escape. Once they were down in the relative privacy of the dungeons, he allowed himself to take off the ring and tucked it away in his pocket for safekeeping.

“You’re back so soon,” Fili said, a small frown on his face when he saw Baylee walking past his cell. “Did something happen?” Then, as Bilbo came into view, a look of understanding came to his face. “Ahhh…Caught by good ol’ dad, I see.”

She nodded. “I didn’t even get terribly far— _maybe_ four halls away this time.”

“Unlike me, young lady, you don’t have a magic ring,” Bilbo gently scolded. “The chances of you getting caught are far higher than the chances of me getting caught.” He watched as she squeezed her way back into the cell. “You’re not going to go visit Thorin?”

“He was asleep when I left,” she explained. “And being that I’ve been gone less than half an hour, I’m fairly certain he’s still asleep.” She slid under the blankets of her makeshift bed, pulling them close to her.

“I’m awake, though.” Bilbo blinked, looking to his right only to see Bofur’ poking his head out of his cell.

His brow rising, he quietly laughed and walked over to him. “Of course you’re awake,” he said, rising up on his toes slightly so he could steal a kiss from him. “How’re you doing?”

“Same as before,” Bofur murmured, his eyes closing as he rested his forehead against Bilbo’s. “Could be better, could be worse, but not complain’ either way. ‘Cept for how I can’t hold you properly.”

“If I could fix that, I would.” He closed his eyes as Bofur managed to wrap his arms around him through the bars. Copying him, he slipped his arms through the bars and wrapped them around the dwarf; he wished he was Baylee’s size. Then he could slip into the cell and get a proper hug.

“What about you?” Bofur murmured. “How’re you doing?”

“The same as you. Though, Baylee gave me a bit of information that I wasn’t aware of.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. Apparently, there’s some sort of feast happening soon.”

“Oh, aye! That! Ithiliel was about t’ tell her what sort o’ feast it was when she got called away.” He quietly sighed. “Neither she nor Tauriel have been back for a few days, though. They must be fairly busy with preparations.”

His brow rose and he opened his eyes slightly. “Baylee mentioned that those two have been visiting. Have you lot been antagonizing them?”

“Us? Antagonize elves?” Bofur gasped, feigning offensive. “Why, Bilbo! You really think we’d stoop t’ that level?” He snorted when he saw the bland expression the hobbit was wearing. “No, no, we haven’t been antagonizin’ them. If anythin’, we actually kind o’ like Tauriel. She’s been ensuring we get good treatment. Mahal’s beard, she even arranged for us t’ have baths a few days ago.”

Brow rising, Bilbo chuckled. “That would explain why you don’t smell nearly as bad.”

Grinning, Bofur gently nuzzled him. “Very funny, love,” he murmured. Once more, his eyes closed and he let out a soft sigh. “In all seriousness, though, Tauriel’s been treatin’ us well an’ we’ve been polite t’ her in return. Ithiliel, though—that lass only talks with Baylee. She just _adores_ your wee lass. Thinks she’s just the cutest little thing.”

“Well, she’s not wrong. I _do_ have an adorable daughter.”

“Aye, that you do. You just best hope that she-elf doesn’t steal her away…She keeps sayin’ how she’s going t’ take her away from here an’ make sure she gets t’ wear only the prettiest dresses…”

At that, Bilbo frowned. “I know Baylee enjoys dressing up in nice clothes as much as the next hobbit lass, but something tells me that she wouldn’t really appreciate being used as an elf’s living doll…though, it seems we won’t have to worry about that for a while, since the feast has the elves all in a tizzy. I saw some carrying an enormous boar towards the kitchens. It had to have been twice the size of Bombur.”

Bofur quietly groaned at the thought. “Oh, roast boar is _delicious_ ,” he sighed. “An’ if it’s twice the size o’ my brother, it’s goin’ t’ be feeding a _lot_ o’ people.” His stomach growled at the thought.

“You act as if they’re starving you,” Bilbo chuckled, his brow rising. “I know for a fact that you’re getting three decent meals a day.”

“Aye, three decent an’ _small_ meals a day! An’ they’re always the same thing: A hunk o’ cheese, a small loaf o’ bread, an’ a hunk o’ pork. Would it kill them t’ change up the menu a bit? Maybe some beef or venison? Maybe even a bit o’ stew or roast vegetables?”

Bilbo snorted. “Roast vegetables? You _must_ be desperate for a change if you’re willing to eat vegetables.”

“Oi, I enjoy vegetables—I just like t’ make sure that there’s a meat dish t’ go with them.” There was a small pout on his lips. “But if the dish is _entirely_ roast vegetables…” He shook his head.

Rising up on his toes again, the hobbit stole a second kiss from him. “I’ll get you out of here soon enough. And then you’ll be able to eat some different foods, I promise,” he murmured.

* * *

The kitchens were bustling.

Bilbo was curled up in his normal spot, listening as orders were given out in elvish and smelling delicious meats as they were roasted to perfection. He was thankful he had managed to nick some waybread a few hours ago; if he hadn’t, he was sure they’d be able to hear his stomach growling.

‘I need to get away from this spot,’ he thought, his eyes shut and his head tilted back against the wall. ‘I need to get away from all these delicious smells. But the halls have been so busy today…I don’t want to accidentally run into anyone.’ He knew that it was a risk he would eventually have to take, however.

After nearly another hour of sitting there, enduring the delicious smells, he gave up. He begrudgingly got to his feet and started to walk away from the kitchens. ‘I suppose I should go see what all the hustle and bustle down in the cellar is about,’ he said to himself. ‘Baylee did mention how there were a lot of comings and goings from there. Perhaps I’ll find something of interest…?’ Shaking his head, he brushed off his backside and carefully started to make his way towards the cellars.

Just as he thought, navigating his way through the halls was a tricky ordeal. Elves were hurrying about, some carrying furniture, others clothing, and still more carried plant life. He even saw another group carrying a second boar towards the kitchens, though this one wasn’t quite a large as the first.

‘They’re definitely preparing for a feast—and it looks like it’s going to be a rather large one, too.’ He pressed himself against the wall as a group of three elves walked by, each one carrying a chair. ‘I’ve seen more elves in the last day or two than I have in all the time I’ve been wandering here…’

Once the elves had passed, he continued on his way. Normally, it would have taken only about fifteen minutes to reach the cellar, but today, it took him nearly forty-five minutes. He had been forced to stop many times and had nearly three near misses.

Upon reaching the cellar, he breathed a sigh of relief. Contrary to what Baylee had told him, it was almost empty. At least, almost empty of living things. As for inanimate objects, there were plenty of those. Most of them looked to be bottles of wine, stored on dozens and dozens of shelves. His brows furrowed; there had to be at least five hundred bottles of wine stored down here. He found even more wine as he explored a bit, though it was stored in dozens of barrels.

‘These elves must really enjoy their wine,’ he thought, creeping his way past a pair of shelves, where an elf was pulling bottles down and tucking them into a large basket. ‘I’ve never seen so much of it in one place—and that includes a vineyard!’

Coming around another shelf, he stopped in his tracks. Lying in the middle of the floor on their sides was a row of empty barrels. Beside them was a large lever, but what purpose the lever served, he hadn’t the slightest idea. Walking over, he crouched down in front of one of the barrels, impressed by how large it was.

‘You could fit a dwarf in here,’ he thought. ‘Maybe even two, if they were smaller. Bombur would have a hard time fitting, though.’ Looking up, he very nearly cried out in surprise as he saw an elf coming towards him, carrying an empty barrel. Scurrying away from the spot, Bilbo partially hid himself behind a shelf—not that he needed to hide.

“I feel like we’ve been emptying these barrels for days now,” the elf sighed, setting the barrel down alongside the other empty ones. Bilbo was more than a little surprised to hear him talk in Westron; all the other elves had been speaking elvish! “I know our king enjoys his wine, but this is a bit ridiculous, don’t you think?”

“It’s good, Dorwinion wine,” a second elf replied, also in Westron. “Of course, our king enjoys it—and with the Feast of Starlight tomorrow, he’ll happily be over-imbibing in it, just as the rest of us will.” This elf, Bilbo saw, had a ring of keys on his belt. “It might even make him merry enough that he’ll send some down to our prisoners.”

The first elf laughed, his brow rising. “Our king is as likely to send wine to the dwarves as he is to release them.”

The second elf patted the ring of keys. “Do you know how tempting it is to set them free _just_ so we can place bets on them to see which of them can find their way to the feast hall first?”

“With thirteen dwarves, there would be a lot of options, that’s for certain.”

“You mean fourteen—don’t forget that little lass they have with them.”

The first elf frowned, his brow rising. “No, we’ll leave her out of it. She’s already been punished enough, having to travel so far from her home with a circus of dwarves. Frankly, I don’t see why Ithiliel hasn’t smuggled her out of her cell yet.”

“Because Ithiliel knows better. She may not be a dwarf, but she’s still an accomplice of theirs and she most definitely knows more than she lets on.” He shook his head, looking down at the barrels. “How many more barrels do we have to empty before we send these ones down the ramp?”

“At least ten. But we can’t send them downriver until the kitchen finishes with the last of _their_ barrels. The last time we forgot to send the kitchen barrels, the Laketown bargeman wasn’t very happy, since _he_ gets paid by the barrel.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the feast tomorrow.”

“I hope so. I missed last year’s feast because I had that injured leg…” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The others have gone upstairs to take their break and to get a bite to eat. I think we should do the same.”

The first elf nodded in agreement. “I’m starving. I haven’t had anything since last night.” He moved to follow his companion towards the stairs.

“And just why is that?” He didn’t sound the least bit pleased by his companion’s lack of food.

“Because I’ve been running my hindquarters off preparing for the feast, of course. Thranduil has been running me ragged.” He shook his head, sighing heavily. “Elros, do this. Elros, fetch me that. Elros, check to see if Oakenshield is ready to talk…”

Bilbo waited for the voices to fade away up the stairwell before coming out of his hiding spot. ‘So, these are going to go down into some sort of river and float to—to this Laketown place? I suppose, then, that means there’s a sort of trap door nearby for this lever?’

He started to walk around the barrels, searching for the trapdoor, though he didn’t have to look far. As he leaned in close to the floor, he could see a faint seam that formed a long rectangle in the floor. ‘Aha, so _this_ is the ramp…now the question is, how far is the drop? Certainly not _too_ far, since they wouldn’t want the barrels to break…’

A frown came to his lips and he stood upright. ‘Am I _really_ considering packing my friends and daughter away into barrels before sending them downriver in order to get them out of this place?’ Shaking his head, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘They’re most certainly going to put up a fight about it. Who wants to be shoved in a barrel and then tossed into a river? I know _I_ certainly wouldn’t. But…it’s really the only chance we’ll get, I’m afraid. The main problem is how to get the keys from Elros and then how to distract him and his friend long enough for the lads to climb into the barrels and for me to pull the lever.’

Releasing his nose bridge, he sighed and began to wander around the cellar a bit more just to make sure there was nothing else of importance to be found. ‘I have between now and then to come up with some sort of diversion…Should I tell the others my plan?’ His brows furrowed at the thought and he shook his head. ‘No, no—if I told them, they’d never go along with it. If I told them I had a plan, but gave them none of the details…Yes, that might work. And it would certainly give them a bit of hope. I _might_ even be able to recruit Baylee to he—’

He paused in his tracks. ‘No. No, no, _no_! I can’t have her help me. It’s too dangerous!’ He wanted to grumble under his breath, but feared even that might be heard by any elves that may be nearby. ‘But…She could be helpful. She’s small and can fit into places I can’t. And—and I need to have faith in her. I’ve seen her kill goblins and orcs; surely escaping an elvish dungeon would be far easier than _killing_ something?’

After spending a good forty-five minutes searching the cellar for anything that could prove useful, he found nothing. He headed back up the stairs and made his way towards the dungeons. As he walked, he was once again exceedingly careful to not run into anyone; it was easier this time around, however, as the halls weren’t nearly as full of people.

‘Either they’ve gotten all the things needed for the feast or they’re taking a break,’ he told himself. ‘I’m not sure which one I’m hoping for more…’

Soon enough, he was making his way down the path to the dungeons. Getting closer, he could hear the sounds of quiet conversation and bartering. He quietly chuckled, his brow rising as he heard Bofur trying to get someone to trade their meat for his bread.

“Why would we trade _bread_ for meat, Bofur?” someone said. It was hard to tell if it was Gloin or Dwalin; the cavern’s echo had a way of distorting their voices and making them sound indistinguishable from one another.

“Because _I_ traded you my meat for your bread this mornin’,” Bofur retorted.

“Here, you can have mine, Bofur.” Bilbo frowned; that was Baylee. “I’m not very hungry right now anyway.”

Coming around the corner, he could see various pieces of food being tossed between the cells. He waited until the air was clear before removing his ring, not wanting to startle anyone and make them drop their food.

“Bilbo’s back,” Nori called out, his words a bit muffled by the bite of cheese he had just taken.

He watched in amusement as various dwarven heads poked themselves out of the cell doors.

“Bilbo! Any news?” Kili questioned.

“Other than there being a feast tomorrow night, none,” he replied, walking along the path. “Everyone’s been fairly distracted by that, however, which has let me explore some places I haven’t been to before.”

“Have they been useful places?” Dwalin asked. “Are they places that can get us out o’ these cells?”

“ _That_ I don’t know just yet,” he sighed. “Just like the last five times you asked. I _promise_ , I _am_ working on something! I’m just trying to hash out the last few details, alright?” It wasn’t quite a lie, but it also wasn’t quite the truth.

“Then why don’t you tell us what you have so far?” Ori suggested. “Maybe we can help!”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, no—I’m afraid you’d all be rather useless, given that you only know your cells. It’ll be Baylee’s help I’ll need.” As he approached her cell, he saw her just climbing into her bed. “Baylee, dear?”

She looked over at him, dark circles under her eyes; the poor thing looked utterly exhausted. “Hello, da’,” she replied, managing to muster up a smile for him.

His brows furrowed. “Baylee, are you feeling alright? You look awful…”

“I’m fine. I didn’t get much sleep last night is all. An’ _no,_ it wasn’t because I was—” She paused, covering her mouth as she yawned. “—It wasn’t because I was sneaking around. I just couldn’t sleep. I was about to take a nap, actually.”

He didn’t seem entirely convinced by her words, however. “Are you sure, dear? You’re not coming down with anything, are you?”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “I promise I’m fine, da’. I just need little nap and I’ll be good to…to continue sitting in this cell.” A quiet laugh left her mouth.

“Alright then, I won’t keep you up, then.” He watched as she snuggled down into the nest of blankets. “Sleep well, dear.”

“I’ll try, da’. Thank you.”

A small smile came to his lips as he watched her; he still wasn’t convinced that she was truly alright, but at least she was getting some rest. Going over to Bofur’s cell, he found the dwarf already standing at the bars, a cheeky grin on his lips as he watched the hobbit come towards him. Seeing that silly grin on his lover’s face made it nearly impossible for Bilbo to not grin in return.

“What’s got you so happy?” he chuckled, his brow rising. Standing on tiptoe, he stole a kiss from Bofur.

“The fact that I get t’ see you today,” he replied, nuzzling his cheek with his nose. “An’ I heard that you might have a bit o’ a plan in the works. I’m not goin’ to ask you about it, though. The others are pressurin’ you enough.” Resting his forehead against Bilbo’s forehead, he let out a quiet sigh. “How’re you holdin’ up?”

“Well enough.” His eyes closed and he smiled, enjoying Bofur’s closeness. “It’s been a bit perilous in the halls today, though. A lot of people running about, getting things ready for the feast tomorrow night. I’ve been having to stay away from the kitchens because all the food they’re making smells so good.”

“Hm…I wonder if they’ll take some pity on us and give us somethin’ different to eat tomorrow?” Bofur chuckled. “As nice as it’d be, I doubt it’d happen. Baylee might get somethin’ different if Ithiliel comes down here…Kili might get something, too, if Tauriel visits. But the rest of us?” He shook his head.

“Speaking of Baylee…” He opened his eyes and glanced over at his daughter’s cell. “Do you know if she’s been feeling alright? She told me she was and that she just didn’t sleep well last night, but I don’t quite believe her.”

At that, Bofur rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, your wee lassie had herself some nightmares last night,” he explained. “They kept waking her up, so I had her come over here to try an’ comfort her.”

His head tilted; he couldn’t remember the last time Baylee had had a nightmare. They had always been a rare occurrence for her. “She didn’t go to Thorin? And how bad were these nightmares?”

“Not sure how bad they were—but they were bad enough that she was pale an’ shaking like a leaf in the wind.” He looked down at Bilbo, brushing a bit of hair from his face. “And no, she didn’t go t’ Thorin. The poor thing was too shaken to make it that far.”

Bilbo frowned. “That’s…odd. She doesn’t normally get nightmares.”

Bofur’s brow rose. “Really? Because that’s about the fifth time she’s had them since we’ve been in here.”

“What!?” he gasped, his eyes widening. He stepped away from Bofur so he could look over into Baylee’s cell. She was curled up just where he had left her and, judging by her deep, slow breathing, she was already asleep. Moving back to his beloved, he swallowed hard. “How many times have they been bad enough she needed comforting?”

“Twice. First time, she went t’ Thorin and we were just _barely_ able t’ get her back to her cell in time to avoid bein’ caught by the guards. Which…might be the reason why she came into my cell instead the second time around.” He shook his head, sighing. “Either way, the poor lass hasn’t been sleeping well. We’re not sure what’s triggering the nightmares, but I’m thinking it’s us being imprisoned like this.”

“Why do you think that? Technically, this is the safest we’ve been since leaving the Shire.”

“That’s why. She’s gettin’ all this time to think about the horrors we’ve been through an’ it’s finally starting to sink in.” Sighing again, he once more rubbed the side of his neck. “But, that’s just a guess, o’ course. I can’t say I know for certain what’s going on in your wee lassie’s mind.” Leaning over, he kissed Bilbo’s forehead. “But if she wakes up before you leave the dungeons, maybe you should give her a nice, long hug, aye? A hug from a stepfather-to-be can only go so far.” He quietly chuckled as Bilbo’s cheeks turned as red as his jacket.

“We-we-well, I’m sh-sh-sure it helped more than you know,” he stammered, Bofur’s words making him a bit flustered.

Bofur’s brow rose in amusement. “Why the sudden nervousness, love?” he murmured teasingly. “Does the thought o’ me bein’ Baylee’s stepfather really get you _that_ flustered?” A grin started to spread across his face as Bilbo opened and closed his mouth in an attempt to say something, but no words came out. “Aww, it _does_ get you that flustered!” he teased. Once more, he nuzzled Bilbo’s cheek with his nose. “ _Maralmizun.”_

A small smile came to his lips and he relaxed a bit. “I love you, too,” he replied. His eyes closed and he did his best to bury his face in the crook of Bofur’s neck. “And thank you…For comforting Baylee. I wish I had known; then I could have been here…”

“I’m not sure how much good it would have done for you t’ be the one t’ comfort her, admittedly. She didn’t want anyone t’ see her in such a state, an’ since you can’t fit between the bars like her, it’d mean havin’ to coddle her out on the pathway.”

He nodded slowly in agreement. “That is true…Though, hopefully, it won’t be for much longer.”

“I have faith in you.” He turned his head, just barely able to kiss his temple. “You’re the one who saved us from three hungry trolls, after all.”

“Gandalf did that. I just bought time for him to get there.”

“You played a crucial part t’ ensuring that he was able t’ get to us in time.”

Rolling his eyes, Bilbo smiled. “If you insist,” he chuckled. Leaning back slightly, he stole a kiss from Bofur’s lips. “I need to go talk to Thorin for a few minutes, alright? Let him know I’ve got a plan in the works and such.”

Nodding, Bofur reluctantly let go of him. “Alright. If anyone comes down here, we’ll give you a whistle.”

Stealing another quick kiss from the dwarf, Bilbo started to follow the path towards Thorin’s cell. While he walked, he could start to feel his stomach churning; should he tell Thorin the details of his plan? Or should he keep him relatively in the dark like he was doing with the others? He knew he had to make up his mind quick, though—He was only a few yards from the cell.

When he stepped in front of the barred door, he found Thorin up and walking around, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked to be deep in thought, making Bilbo almost hesitant to disturb him. Glancing back up the path, he suddenly felt a bit foolish; of course, he wasn’t going to see anyone else.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. Thorin frowned and, stopping in his tracks, turned towards him in confusion. Some relief came to his features when he realized it wasn’t an elf who was visiting him and he walked over to the door.

“Master Baggins,” he said with an acknowledging nod. “Do you bring news?”

“Some news, yes. But first, how’re you doing? Are they still pestering you about the quest?”

“Not for the last couple of days, thankfully.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the wall. “I think they’ve finally given up.”

“Or they’re too busy preparing for the feast.” He watched as the dwarf’s brow rose. “Yes, there’s a feast taking place—tomorrow night, as a matter of fact.” He looked down at his feet, shifting somewhat uncomfortably. “I think I may have a plan to get you all out of here while the feast is happening.”

Thorin’s eyes widened greatly and a grin started to spread across his lips. “You do?”

Bilbo quickly held his hands up. “N-Now, just you wait,” he lightly scolded. “I said I _think_ I may have a plan. There’s still quite a few details that I’m ironing out.”

“What sort of details?”

“Well, for instance, the mode of transportation. How I’m supposed to get the keys from the jailor. How I’m supposed to guide a group of loud, clumsy dwarves to their freedom without being caught.”

Thorin nodded slowly in understanding, the joy leaving his face the more Bilbo spoke. “That…is quite a few things that you’re needing to iron out before tomorrow night, Master Baggins.”

“I know. But I _am_ working on it. I already know that I’ll have to get some help from Baylee when she wakes up.”

“…Mouse-Lass is sleeping?” he questioned, brow rising.

“She’s taking a nap, yes. From what I hear, she hasn’t been sleeping the best lately…she’s been having some horrible nightmares.” Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Thorin’s brows furrowed deeply. “She’s having nightmares again?”

“Again?” He looked up, confused. “What do you mean, ‘ _again’?_ She hasn’t had any on this trip until now!”

Shaking his head, Thorin sighed; he suddenly felt a bit guilty. Had Baylee been wanting to keep her nightmares a secret from her father? “The first night we were in Beorn’s home, she had had a nightmare that was bad enough to wake her. When she didn’t come back from getting a drink of water, I went looking for her and found her curled up at the base of the water barrel.” He closed his eyes, remembering that night all too well. “She admitted to me that she’d been having nightmares more and more frequently of late. But with how peacefully she slept while we were in the forest, I thought, perhaps, they had gone away.”

“Bofur thinks they’re coming about because of having so much free time to sit and think about what we’ve gone through.” Sighing, he moved to sit down, he back partially against the wall. “I wish I could make them go away, though.”

“As do I.” Copying Bilbo, he slid down to the floor and, bringing a knee up, draped his arm over it. “I wish I knew a way to keep her out of harm’s way. I wish I knew a way to keep you _all_ out of harm’s way…But it seems we just keep running into worse and worse trouble.” He let his head fall back against the wall, his eyes opening slightly to stare at the ceiling. “If I could leave you all somewhere safe and continue this journey on my own, I would.”

Glancing over at the king, Bilbo let out a quiet sigh. “You do realize that’s impossible, right?” he asked, a bit of amusement in his voice. “You could leave us all in the safest, most comfortable place in the whole of Middle Earth and we wouldn’t let you leave without us. You’d have to chain us down to keep us from going after you.”

A soft laugh left his mouth. “That is true…you are all loyal to fault. A horrible trait, really.”

Bilbo snorted. “We’ve gone this far with you. We’re not going to let you finish this quest on your own.” He shook his head, chuckling.

Thorin, too, quietly laughed. “Baylee has said similar phrases to me over the last few months…I see where she gets them from. Or, perhaps, you get them from her?”

“Oh, so you _do_ remember her name,” he snickered. “I was beginning to think you had truly forgotten it this time around.”

His brow rose as he looked over at the hobbit, though he snorted as well. “I remember her name just as well as I remember yours, _Bilbo_. I’ve…just grown quite fond of calling her ‘Mouse-Lass’ over the course of the journey.”

“Just as she’s grown fond of calling you ‘Oakenshield’. I daresay they’ve become more pet-names than they have titles.” Changing his position, he laid down on the floor, his hands behind his head and his eyes shut.

Thorin watched him for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “Does it bother you…? The affections she and I have for one another, I mean.”

Bilbo was quiet for some moments—so quiet, Thorin thought he had fallen asleep. As such, when he spoke, the king was nearly startled. “I’m not going to lie. They do bother me a little bit, but for what I hope are understandable reasons.” Opening an eye, he peeked over at Thorin again. “If she is your One, then she’ll be staying in Erebor with you instead of coming home with me. That…that’ll take quite a while to get used to, even with Bofur being there in her place. Then there’s the fact that you’re so much older than her. You’re already greying, for Yavanna’s sake, and she only just turned thirty-three! But, I know I can’t complain too much without being hypocritical—Bofur’s a fair few decades older than me, after all…

“But I also find it strange. She’s known you for so such a short amount of time and yet, I can tell she’s truly in _love_ with you. Everything about the way she interacts with you—you’d have to be blind _and_ deaf to not tell how in love the two of you are,” he sighed. “Meanwhile, she’s known and has crushed on Halfast for _years_ , yet I was never quite sure if she would ever get past the ‘crush’ phase. Despite my hopes of her settling down with the lad—even when she told me he kissed her—I wasn’t sure if anything would come of it if ever we got back to the Shire.”

Thorin nodded slowly as he listened to Bilbo speak. They were, of course, all valid concerns. Some of them he even worried about himself; the fact that she would have to stay in Erebor being the main one. She always spoke so fondly of the Shire, he knew she would miss it. She’d be able to visit, of course—it would be cruel to keep her from seeing her family.

“I hope you know I won’t keep her from visiting you,” he said after some minutes. “You’re the most important person in her life; to keep her from seeing her father would be cruel.” He ran a hand through his hair before resting his forehead in his palm. “As for how quickly we fell for one another…I’m afraid I don’t have much of an answer for that, other than I believe it started in Rivendell.” A small smile came to his lips when he remembered the long conversations he and Baylee had had while wandering the halls of the Last Homely Home.

“When you braided her hair for the very first time?” he asked with a small laugh. Looking at Thorin again, he found that he had managed to bring a slight flush of embarrassment to his cheeks.

“Her hair kept falling into her face,” he replied, his tone a bit defensive. “I merely wanted to help her by tying it back.” He glanced over at the hobbit, seeing a knowing grin on his lips. “…Though, perhaps there was a _bit_ of flirtation in the gesture, but I hadn’t realized it at the time.”

Bilbo chuckled, letting his eyes drift shut. “I knew there had to have been some. You wouldn’t have done such a complex braid if you were just helping her hair to stay out of her face.”

His brow rose. “Complex? If I recall, it was just a four-strand braid.”

“Well, I had never seen a braid like that before.”

“Baylee did mention that the Shire didn’t use as many different braids as we dwarves do. Maybe Bofur will change that while he’s there?” Once more, he copied Bilbo by changing his position and laying down on the stone floor. “Or Baylee will when we go to visit you. I hear queens can be quite influential when it comes to fashion.”

Bilbo was quiet for a moment. “She’s really going to be queen, then?”

“Queen consort, yes.”

“Hm. She’s not going to like having all that attention on her.”

His brow rose and he glanced over at the hobbit. “What do you mean by that?”

“Neither Baylee or I enjoy being the center of attention,” he explained with a small laugh. “Even if it’s for something good, we prefer to remain unnoticed in the background. Otherwise, we’re just left standing their feeling quite awkward and nervous.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “Hm. She _will_ have to make public appearances, of course, but I won’t force her to attend anything she feels truly uncomfortable with. And should she get too shy in the midst of some event, I’ll allow her to hide behind me.” There was a bit of laughter in his voice, letting Bilbo know the words had been in jest.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Bilbo smiled. “Though, I don’t think she’d need to hide behind you—just wrap part of your overcoat around her and she’d be hidden well enough.” He let out a small sigh; after a moment, he asked, “…Does being in love with her worry _you_ at all?”

“Of course.” He clasped his hands over his chest and crossed his ankles. “While I have the backing of the company, it will be a bit difficult to get other dwarves to understand that she _is_ my One, therefore, she _will_ be their queen. If she were a dwarf of a different social class, then there’d be no trouble; we don’t have those sorts of taboos like the other races do.”

“That’s understandable, given how rare it is for a dwarf to even have a One.”

“Yes. And, while there have been some dwarves who have found their Ones among humans, I…I don’t think any dwarf has found their one among Hobbits until Bofur and I came along. Humans, at least, are larger than us.”

Bilbo frowned and, turning his head to look at Thorin, cocked his brow. “What does it matter if humans are bigger than you?” he questioned. “Or rather, that hobbits are smaller than you?”

Copying him, Thorin turned his head to look at him. “Hardiness,” he said, “especially when it comes to childbirth. I…I worry that if Mahal and Yavanna blessed us with the chance to have a child, it may not be the easiest thing for her to endure…” As he spoke, his cheeks had grown pinker and pinker.

“As valid of a concern as that is, it’s not really something you’ll need to worry about,” he assured him. “Hobbit women are quite hardy, _especially_ when it comes to childbirth. Yes, your children will be half dwarf, but unless she’s carrying twins or triplets, she’ll be fine. She may need a few days of bed rest, but nothing too serious.”

“Hm…well, that is good to hear.”

“If you do have children—which I hope you do, because I want at least _one_ grandchild—what will happen if one of them is a son? Will he become your heir or would that still go to Fili, since he’s full-blooded?”

“As my child, he would come to inherit the throne, yes. But if something were to happen to me before he was old enough, Fili would become king regent until my son reached the age of thirty.”

“I take it thirty when dwarves come of age?”

“Yes. Though, you would never guess it based on how childish my nephews act.” He quietly chuckled. “Fili’s eighty-two and still acts twenty-three at times.”

His brows rose in surprise. “Eighty-two? I would have never guessed he was that old. Just how old does that make you then?”

“One hundred ninety-five.”

Bilbo’s eyes shot open and he bolted upright. “Yo-yo-you’re nearly _two-hundred_!?”

“Yes.” He looked at Bilbo in confusion. “Does it surprise you that much?”

“Y-yes, of course it does! Balin and Oin look like they’re nearly two-hundred, but you? You look like you’re the equivalent of a hobbit who’s in his sixties!”

Quietly laughing, he shrugged. “Some of us grey sooner than others. To be quite honest, I’m surprised my hair isn’t more white, especially with how stressful my life has been…” Letting his eyes drift shut again, he slowly exhaled through his nose. “This makes you even more hesitant to let her and I be together, doesn’t it?”

“Admittedly, yes. But I know there’s no stopping it.” He, too, sighed. “She’s your One. Nothing will keep you away from her. Well, _almost_ nothing, but that’s not something I really want to think about right now.” He ran a hand partway through his hair only to frown more; his hair was getting rather long. ‘I must look ridiculous right now with my hair so unruly. If only I had some scissors or a razor,’ he thought.

Thorin frowned. “I, too, don’t want to think about that right now. I would rather think about how, with luck, we’ll be out of this place soon.” He shifted, tucking one hand behind his head while the other remained on his chest. “Are you positive you can’t tell me anything about your plans thus far?”

“Yes. You must understand, I _want_ to, but I fear that if I do, it’ll only bring about bad luck. But I promise, I’m doing my best.”

“I know you are, Master Baggins. It’s just…Durin’s Day is fast approaching.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Or, rather, I _think_ it’s fast approaching. With all this time being spent trapped in the forest and now trapped in this dungeon, it’s been hard to keep track of time.”

“It’s early September right now,” Bilbo told him. “At least, I believe it is. The few times I’ve been outside the palace, I’ve seen that the leaves of deciduous trees were beginning to change color.”

“We need to be out of here very soon, then.” Bilbo could hear the frown in his voice. “Durin’s Day is just over a month from now and we have at _least_ another two weeks of travel to get to the mountain. That is, _if_ we’re still relatively far north.”

Sitting up, Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck; he didn’t like this deadline. He didn’t like it at _all_. “Then I best go try and find a quiet place to sit and think,” he sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be back before the plan goes into action, but whatever happens, please trust me.”

Thorin looked at him, a small smile on his lips. “You’ve given me no reason _not_ to trust you, Master Baggins,” he said. “Now go find your quiet spot. I don’t want to keep you from your planning.”

Bilbo gave him a thankful smile and nodded before taking his leave. Walking back up the path, he rubbed the back of his neck; it was stiff from having lain on the floor.

“Did you have a good chat, love?” Bofur asked once he was within sight.

Nodding, he went over to the dwarf and kissed his chin. “We did. I told him I’ve got a plan in the works and he told me he’ll trust whatever I come up with.” His eyes closed when Bofur rested his chin atop his head. “Mm…why are you so comfortable?”

Bofur grinned, his eyes shut. “I was just thinkin’ the same about you, love. You’re the _perfect_ height for a chin rest.” His grin turned a bit cheeky when he felt Bilbo lightly smack his arm. “Once I’m out o’ this cell, the first chance I get, I’m going t’ give you a proper snuggle. I might not let go o’ you for a few days, though.”

“That just means you’ll have to carry me everywhere, I’ll have you know.”

“I don’t mind. Gives me practice for when we get back t’ Bag End an’ I need to carry you over the threshold.” Peeking down at his love, he could see that Bilbo’s face was as red as his jacket.

“And just what makes you think I’ll let you do that?” he pouted.

He snorted, his brow rising. “Well, I highly doubt you’d be able t’ lift my sorry arse, let alone carry it over a threshold.” Leaning over, he nuzzled his cheek with his nose. “At least you won’t be in a dress, as lovely as you’d look in one.”

As hard as he tried, Bilbo was unable to stop himself from laughing. “I think _you’d_ look far better in a wedding dress.”

“Hmm…No, I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone would want t’ see that much chest hair pokin’ out o’ the neckline of a dress. Not even myself an’ I’m quite proud o’ my chest hair, just so you know.”

“Alright, that’s enough, you two,” Fili told them, his nose scrunched up in distaste. “No one wants t’ hear about your chest hair, Bofur, least of all if it’s pokin’ out of a wedding dress.”

Bofur puffed his chest out proudly. “You’re just jealous that I’ve got more hair on my chest than you.”

“You do not!”

“The hair on your chest is as sparse as the beard on Kili’s face, Fili!” Ori laughed.

“Oi! My beard’s been fillin’ in—Fili’s chest hasn’t, though!” Kili pouted.

“My hair’s blonde, so it’s harder t’ see!” Fili argued.

Bilbo smacked his forehead as the dwarves started arguing about who had the most hair on their chest. “Yavanna help me, what did I start?” he murmured with a sigh.


	22. Chapter 22

‘…Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Good, good, there’s enough for all of us. Even then, Baylee and I will probably share one, given how small we are compared to everyone else.’ Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck as he stood in front of the stack of barrels that were ready to be sent downstream.

Turning around, he started to measure out how far the lever was from the barrels. ‘About three paces…if I put Baylee in the last one here, that should give me enough time to get into the barrel myself.’

A small smile came to his lips and he put his hands on his hips. “This plan may actually work,” he dared to mumble out loud. “Now, to wait until everyone’s up at the fe—”

He was cut off by the sound of jingling keys and voices in the stairwell. His eyes widening, he darted behind one of the shelves. He knew it would highly unlikely that he’d be seen, given that he was wearing his ring, but he would much rather be safe than sorry.

“These empty barrels should have been sent back to Esgaroth _hours_ ago! Why has no one sent them yet?”

“Because a fresh shipment of wine from Dorwinion was delivered this afternoon and we had to empty those into flagons first.”

Bilbo swallowed hard and began to panic. Surely, they weren’t about to send the barrels downstream _already_?!

As the pair of elves came into view, he could see that one of them—the one with the keys—was Elros. There was a bit of an annoyed expression on his face as he reached the last step and started heading towards the barrels. The other elf, however, grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Come now,” he said, grinning at Elros. “The bargeman is surely asleep at the moment—it’s still an hour or two before sunrise, after all! We can spare to wait a few more hours. Come—I managed to save us a few flagons of our ill-tempered king’s new wine. We could both do with the break.”

A hesitant look came to Elros’ face. “I have the dwarves in my charge,” he stated. “I’ll need to check on them soon.”

“They’re locked up in the dungeons!” the other elf laughed, snatching the keys from his belt. He tossed them onto a hook on the wall. “Where can they go?”

At that, Elros seemed to relax a bit and even let out a small laugh. “I suppose you’re right. Fine. I’ll try the new wine with you. Eru only knows it’ll be my one chance to actually taste it.”

His eyes widening, Bilbo saw as the two went over to a table in the corner. As he crept over to watch them, he could see that it wasn’t cups that their wine was poured into, but large tankards. His brow rose; that didn’t seem to be the appropriate way to drink _wine_ of all drinks, but who was he to judge how elves used their dishware?

“Oh, now this is the _good_ stuff,” Elros murmured after taking a long drink from his bowl. “This had to have come from the queen’s own vineyards—all other wine we get from Dorwinion isn’t nearly as good as this.” He took another drink.

“It does, in fact!” The second elf poured more wine into Elros’ tankard before adding more to his own. “And not just any one of her vineyards—it comes from her special golden grape vineyard.”

“ _That’s_ why the color is so pale!”

As Bilbo stood there, spying on them, he could see their cheeks slowly growing more and more red as they continued to drink and laugh. He had seen elves drink copious amounts of wine before—quiet recently in the kitchens, as a matter of fact—but their cheeks had never turned red. Nor did they ever seem to be affected in terms of drunkenness. But this special wine seemed to have quite a different effect on them, as it was actually managing to make them drunk.

And, within half an hour, both their heads were resting on their arms as they snored, fast asleep.

Not wanting to waste whatever precious time he had, Bilbo darted over to the wall and, standing on his tiptoes, was just _barely_ able to reach the keys. Tucking them under his arm in hopes of silencing any noise they would make, he all but ran out of the cellars.

‘Please let the paths be clear, please let the paths be clear,’ he thought. As he ran, he could feel his stomach twisting itself into worried knots; this was their only chance at escape. This _had_ to work.

In the distance, he thought he could hear laughter and singing and, normally, he would have gone to investigate. This time, however, he could not have cared less. What he _did_ care about, however, was how, despite his best efforts, the keys still managed to make an occasional ‘clank’ as one slipped lose from its spot.

Luck was on his side, however. He made it to the dungeons, undetected by any elves and, once he reached the first cell, he yanked his ring off. Tucking it away in his pocket, he ignored the curses of surprise from Nori and Bifur.

“Bilbo!” Nori cried. “You startled—”

“Shh!” Bilbo scolded. “Shh! You must all be quiet. You must be _very_ quiet unless you want us to get caught!” Despite his warning tone, there was a broad grin on his lips as he held up the ring of keys. He could hear various gasps and quiet curses as the dwarves gazed at him in awe. “Now stay quiet while I go get Thorin.”

He hurried down the pathway, trying to sort through the keys to determine which one was the right one. Before he could get very far, however, a small arm reached out and snatched the tail of his coat. Yelping, he turned around to find Baylee looking up at him.

“It’s this one,” she told him, picking up key whose bow was a bit more angular than the rest.

“I’d ask how you know that, but there isn’t time,” he chuckled. “Thank you, dear.” With the correct key in hand, he continued on his way to Thorin’s cell.

There, he found the king once again pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. When he heard the sound of the key being shoved into the lock, he stopped and looked at the door.

“Bilbo!”

“Shh! I don’t know how much time we’ve got.” Yanking the key from the lock, he pulled open the door.

Slipping out of the cell, he followed Bilbo back up the path. “Did you get everyone else?”

“Not yet. I came to get you first, since you were the furthest away.”

As the two rounded the corner, they could see that Baylee had squeezed out of her cell. Upon seeing Thorin, a broad grin came to her lips and she darted over, throwing her arms around him. He smiled, holding her close.

“You visited me barely an hour ago,” he murmured. Looking past her, he watched as Bilbo unlocked Bofur’s cell only to receive a similar treatment.

“I know, but it’s good to see you outside of the cell,” she replied. She leaned back slightly and, standing on her tippiest-toes, tried to press her forehead against his. But she wasn’t even tall enough to reach his nose, let alone his forehead.

Chuckling, Thorin leaned over for her. “’ _Ibinê abnâmul.”_

“My Oakenshield,” she murmured. She was just starting to feel the familiar warmth and safety that his arms brought when she heard someone awkwardly clear their throat behind her. Reluctantly, she turned her head only to find her father looking at her.

“I have a very important job for you, dear,” he told her, his face and voice solemn.

Her brows furrowing, she nodded. Looking back at Thorin, she gave him an apologetic smile before moving to follow Bilbo up the path. He had given the keys to Bofur, who was now in the middle of freeing Fili. They carefully walked around the pair, not wanting to get too close to the edge of the pathway.

“What is it you need me to do, da’?” Baylee asked as they neared the fork in the path.

“I need you to go scout ahead a little bit. Specifically, I need you to make sure the halls that lead to the wine cellar are clear,” he told her, his voice quiet. “You need to be _very_ careful though, dear. Most of the elves are at some feast, yes, but I don’t know if any are wandering the halls, drunk.”

“Why the wine cellar?” she questioned.

“That’s where we’ll make our escape. I can’t go into detail right now, though.” He paused, his eyes closing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ju-ju-just-just— _please_ , go make sure the first few halls are clear.”

She nodded in understanding and gave him a reassuring smile. “Alright. I’ll be back soon.”

Darting up the hallway, she kept an ear out for any approaching footsteps or voices. When she came to a fork, she pressed herself against the wall and, crouching low, peeked around the corner. Seeing that it was clear, she then looked at the hall across the way; it, too, was empty.

She went around the corner and hurried towards the middle of this second hall, where it branched off to the left. Once again crouching low, she peeked around this corner; still empty. Making her way past the fork, she went to the end of the hall, where the path continued out into the open cavern. She swallowed hard; this was where they were most likely to get caught.

‘I’m not seeing anyone,’ she thought, her brows furrowed as she squatted down. ‘But I can hear some voices in the distance. Or is that just an echo from the feast taking place?’ Narrowing her eyes, she continued to search along the various walkways above and below her.

And then, she spotted it: A pair of figures walking across a lower bridge only to stop halfway across. One was blonde and the other a redhead.

‘Legolas and Tauriel, maybe?’ she thought, her head tilting. ‘Legolas is the prince, so why isn’t he at the feast?’

Something hissed behind her and she frowned. Turning, a sigh of relief left her mouth as she found her father and the dwarves coming towards her. They were being as quiet as they could, though they weren’t nearly as quiet as an elf or a hobbit.

She held out her hand, motioning for them to stop before holding her finger to her lips. Turning her attention back to the pair of elves, she could see that they were still in the middle of the bridge. She bit her lower lip; they didn’t look like they would be moving any time soon.

Bilbo came up alongside her. “What’s the hold up, dear?” he whispered.

Pointing at the two elves, she looked at her father. “Those two. They don’t seem like they’ll be moving any time soon.”

“We’ll just have to risk it, then,” he frowned. “We’ll stay crouched as low as we can so we’re not as noticeable.”

“Alright. I’ll go make sure the next fork is clear.”

“And I’ll let the others know.” He gave her a halfhearted smile, patting her on the shoulder before he turned around.

Baylee carefully crawled from her spot, doing her best to not be as noticeable to the two elves as possible. She knew she couldn’t keep her focus on just them, however: There were still dozens of bridges and walkways she needed to keep an eye on. She was in luck, though, as she saw no one else.

Reaching the fork, she found it clear and she turned around. It was quite a distance from where she had left her father and the others—nearly one hundred yards—and she was a little bit downhill from them. She could just barely see her father peeking around the corner and she gave him a little wave to let him know it was clear.

Fili and Kili led the line, making sure to hug the wall-side of the path as close as possible. They were practically bent in half as they hurried and their faces were contorted in a bit of pain; it was not a very comfortable position to walk in, after all. But what was uncomfortable for them was nearly downright painful for the older members of the company. Bombur couldn’t even crouch down that low thanks to his girth and Baylee found herself holding her breath as she kept her eyes on the elves.

Thankfully, everyone made it to the hall unseen and she finally released the breath she was holding. Bilbo ushered her forward once more, needing her to scout ahead. It was an unnecessary precaution, however, as the rest of their path was clear.

There was just one more staircase for them to go down when Kili realized where they were heading. “Are you joking?” he hissed. “You’re leading us down to the cellars!”

“Shh!” Bilbo hushed.

“You’re supposed t’ be leadin’ us out—not further in!” Nori harshly whispered.

“Please, you’ll just have to trust me!” the older Baggins pleaded. “I know what I’m doing, now _please_ just stay quiet!”

Baylee bit her lower lip as she followed her father. Like the others, she didn’t like that he had brought them down to the cellars, but unlike the others, she knew that he wouldn’t have brought them down there just to trap them. As she walked, she looked around.

‘They really like their wine around here,’ she thought, seeing the shelves lined with bottles of varying sizes. Her brows furrowed and she backed up a few paces, having spotted something unusual.

There, hanging on the wall by the sleeping elves, was her sword and Thorin’s shield.

She quickly looked back at the group; many of them were arguing with Bilbo about his plan. With them distracted, she left the company and started to sneak her way towards the elves. ‘Please stay asleep,’ she thought, creeping her way past the shelves.

Coming to stand behind one of the slumbering elves, she looked up at the wall. The hooks were quite a way out of her reach and, from what she could see, there were no step stools around. Biting her lower lip, she looked for something long enough that she could use to knock down the sword and shield, but again, she found nothing.

Just when she was about to give up, however, she came up with something that would _hopefully_ work.

There was an empty barrel close to the sleeping elves and, after testing its weight, she was able to quietly bring it down so that it was on its side. She rolled it around to the wall where it was able to stay in place on its own, but she knew she needed to wedge something under it to keep it from rolling once she got atop it. And those wedges happened to be the large tankards the elves were using.

She had to stand on her tippiest-toes in order to reach both tankards, but she was _just_ barely able to grab their handles. Finding one of them still half full, she sniffed its contents before scrunching her nose up. ‘This would have me on my bum with just a sip,’ she thought. She flicked its contents out onto the floor before going back to the barrel.

Laying the tankards on their sides, she wedged them beneath the barrel, hoping they would be large enough. A sigh of relief left her mouth when, after testing the barrel’s stability, she found it safe. It took a little effort for her to crawl atop the barrel, but when she did, she first grabbed her sword and fastened it around her waist.

‘There we go,’ she thought. ‘That…makes me feel less naked, though I could still do with my petticoats.’ Knowing those were long gone and would never be seen again, however, she reached up for Thorin’s shield. Thanks to her inability to properly judge distance, however, she ended up smacking her hand into it, making it clank loudly against the wall.

Baylee froze, her eyes widening when one of the elves snorted in his sleep. Thankfully, he turned his head and started to snore again. She breathed a sigh of relief and, taking a great deal more care this time, reached over and lifted the shield from its spot. Then, hopping off the barrel, she hurried off.

When she met back up with the others, they were starting to crawl into the barrels. Bilbo, she saw, was looking around in a panic—searching for her, no doubt. Spotting her, he nearly cried out.

“Where were you?!” he hissed, wagging a scolding finger at her.

“I found my sword and Oakenshield’s…er, well, his oaken shield.” She smiled innocently as she looked up at her father.

“You had me worried sick, young lady! You shouldn’t have run off like that—what if you had gotten caught? You might’ve gotten us all caught!” he reprimanded. Then, shaking his head, he let out a heavy sigh. “Now get into one of these barrels. I’m certain we don’t have much time.”

She nodded. “Let me just give this back,” she whispered.

“Hurry!”

Seeing Thorin towards the front of the stack of barrels, she went over to him. He looked up as she approached only to frown in confusion as she held out his shield.

“Where did you get this, Mouse-Lass?” he questioned, taking it from her.

“Same place I got this.” She grinned, patting the sword at her side.

Closing his eyes, he quietly chuckled. “You’re full of surprises, Mouse-Lass. Thank you.” As he opened his eyes again, he slid the shield into place over his forearm.

A warm smile came to her lips as she watched him put it on. Satisfied that the shield was back with its owner, she went back to the end of the line.

“Get in a barrel, dear,” Bilbo quietly ordered. “I’ll join you shortly.”

Nodding, she slipped into one of the barrels on the bottom. Being that she was so small, it was quite roomy in there; she was certain that, if she were to stand up straight, she would be able to only _just_ see over the edge of it.

Bofur poked himself out of his barrel. “Now what do we do?” he questioned, unknowingly voicing what everyone was thinking.

A bit of a guilty look came to Bilbo’s face. “Hold your breath.”

“Hold my breath?” Bofur questioned, brows furrowing. He watched Bilbo start to pull back on the lever. “What do you—” His eyes shot open when the floor began to tip downwards and he hurriedly ducked back into his barrel.

Feeling her own barrel start to move, Baylee squeaked. “Da’!” she cried, reaching her hand out towards Bilbo. But it was too late; before he realized she was reaching for him, she was halfway down the ramp.

A cry of both fear and worry left her mouth as the barrel fell downwards. She pulled her arm back into the barrel just in time for it to hit the water below. The force of the impact flung her upwards, slamming her into the wooden wall. Seconds later, she gasped as she was hit in the face by ice-cold water.

The barrel righted itself and she found herself sitting in an inch of icy water. Uttering an unladylike word, she shakily got to her feet and, having to stand on her tiptoes, peeked over the edge of the wood only to find that she was the one of the last in the lineup of barrels. Nori was beside her of her, a concerned look on his face.

“You alright, lass?” he asked. Despite his concern, he couldn’t help but admit how amusing it was to see her peeking up like that.

“F-fine,” she stammered. “A b-bit shaken, but something tells me we all are.” Pushing some wet strands of hair out of her face, she tried to look around, but it was of little use. She could only see that they were in some sort of tunnel. “Where’s da’?”

As if on cue, light suddenly poured down onto them from above. She turned around, just in time to see her father falling down from the ceiling. Another curse left her mouth and she frantically looked around, hoping her father would surface.

‘But he can’t swim,’ she thought, nervously biting her lower lip. ‘And with how cold this water is…’ Her jaw started to quiver; whether it was from the cold or from the thought of this being how she lost her father, she didn’t know.

Bilbo’s head abruptly broke through the surface of the water and he gasped loudly. He awkward started swimming towards the barrels, spitting water out of his mouth. Once he was close enough, Nori reached out and started trying to pull him up into his barrel.

There wasn’t time, though. With the arrival of Bilbo, the others started to paddle their barrels forward, aiming for the middle of the tunnel, where the current was strongest.

“D-da’, are you alright?” Baylee questioned, still on her tiptoes.

He could only manage a nod and a small wave, which she didn’t find very reassuring.

“Hold on!” Thorin suddenly shouted, his voice echoing through the tunnel around them.

Baylee could hear a roaring sound akin to the waterfalls back in Rivendell. Her brows furrowed and she ducked down, stretching her arms out and pressing her palms flat against the walls of the barrel in an attempt to keep herself from getting tossed about too much. And it worked—at least, for this first fall. She yelped as the barrel tipped forward only to get pulled downwards.

For a few seconds, she felt weightless.

And then the barrel suddenly hit the bottom of the waterfall. Despite her attempts to brace herself, she was flung forward into the wall of the barrel, her nose taking the brunt of the impact.

A whole string of unladylike words spilled from her mouth.

One of her hand instinctively let go of the walls in favor of covering her nose. After a few seconds, she pulled her hand away only to find her palm had blood on it.

Outside her barrel, she could hear the dwarves shouting and her father’s yelps as he was tossed about. She badly wished she was tall and strong enough to pull her father into the barrel with her. Judging by how distant his cries were, though, she wouldn’t be able to reach him anyway. There was a silver lining at the moment, however: the rapids had ended and they were now lightly bumping back and forth through a narrow gap between the two riverbanks.

Her eyes widened as a strange horn broke through the sounds of distressed dwarves and rushing water. Daring to stand up a bit straighter, she looked around, but could only see the morning sky and the rocky embankments on either side of the river. She turned around, her eyes squinting; she thought she could see a sort of bridge or guard-post approaching.

It was then Thorin started shouting in a panic. Her brows furrowed and, closing her eyes, she did her best to listen.

“Close the gates!” someone was shouting. “Close them quick!”

“No! You pointy eared bastards!” Thorin shouted back.

‘Oh no,’ she thought. ‘There’s a gate?!’ Swallowing hard, she continued listening, though it was getting hard to hear with the combined shouting of elves and dwarves. She gave up and, as her barrel thumped into another barrel, she opened her eyes.

Fili and Kili were on her left with Bombur on her right. Just a few feet in front of and above them was the bridge which was also a guard-post. At the very front of the pileup of barrels, was the closed gate. Thorin and Dori were trying their best to force it open, but it was of no use.

One of the elven guards started draw his sword, but before he could, the air was forced from his lungs and he went rigid. He fell forward into the water, an arrow sticking out of his back.

And then the orcs came crawling over the wall.

They were coming from both sides, swarming the guard-post and killing the guards with little care. Their targets were the dwarves, who they started to fling themselves at. The first couple missed the barrels and sank down into the river, dragged down by their armor and weapons.

Quickly drawing her sword, Baylee saw that it was glowing a brilliant blue. While part of her was still amazed by this magic, another part of her was focused on trying to stab the orc that had fallen atop Bombur. Holding onto the edge of the barrel, she jumped up and managed to get her sword into the side of its neck.

“Thanks, lass!” Bombur grunted, shoving the orc off of him, its body landing in the water with a splash.

“Here! I’m useless with this while I’m in this barrel,” she told him, holding the sword out to him. “Don’t you dare drop it, though!”

Nodding, he took it from her and started to slash at the orcs that were in front of him.

Looking to her left, she cursed when she saw Kili on land. In his hand, he held an orcish sword and was using it to clear a path ahead of him. She looked for the reason as to why he would be up there when she spotted the lever that would open the gate.

The lever was quickly blocked from view as an orc threw itself at her. She cried out and flung herself to the bottom of the barrel. She suddenly regretted passing off her sword. As the orc landed atop the barrel, it snarled and reached down to grab her. Its eyes shot open and Baylee yelped as its head—and plenty of its black blood—fell down into her lap, the rest of its body slipping away into the river.

Not having time to be grossed out, she grabbed the head by what little hair it had and stood up on her tiptoes. Searching for a target, she saw an orc rushing towards Kili and, with little hope of hitting it, she flung the head with all her might. The decapitated head miraculously slammed into the oncoming orc’s face and threw it off balance. It toppled over the wall and into the river.

“Yavanna’s bounty, that _worked_?!” she mumbled, astonished.

“KILI!”

As Fili’s voice filled the air, she looked back at the dark-haired prince in time to see him fall over. His face was contorted in pain and she could see why: There was a long, black arrow sticking out of his thigh.

Another orc was rushing towards him, its sword drawn back and ready for the killing blow. Before it got close, though, an arrow flew into its throat. It tumbled forwards down the short flight of stairs become coming to a halt. Both Kili and Baylee looked over at the embankment only to find Tauriel and a dozen other elves racing towards the guard-post.

A squeak left Baylee’s mouth and she quickly ducked down once more as another orc flung itself at the group. Biting her lower lip, she decided it would be best to remain at the bottom of her barrel for now, despite the freezing water and orc blood. Her nose scrunched up as she heard an almost painfully shrill and metallic creak; she knew it could only be one thing: The gate had been flung open.

Soon, the group began to move once more and a cry of pain followed by the breaking of wood could be heard as Kili fell back into his barrel. Hearing the rushing of a waterfall and cries from the dwarves as they went over, Baylee flung her arms out, bracing herself against the sides of the barrel. She once again felt weightless before the fall came to an abrupt end. Having braced herself, she didn’t fly forward this time.

Around her, she could hear cries of fear, grunts of exertion, and the loud snarls of orcs. She was just about to risk standing up when there was a loud, dull thud. Sticking into the inside rim of the barrel was a black orc arrow.

‘I’m staying down here,’ she thought with a small gulp.

Her barrel, being fairly light due to its small passenger, was soon getting tossed around and thrown about more than the others. Her stomach churned just as much as the river outside; she found herself regretting having ate barely an hour ago. Luckily, she was able to keep herself from throwing up.

What she _wasn’t_ able to stop, however, was the shivering and the pain that was quickly filling her limbs. Icy water occasionally splashed in, leaving her soaked to the bone. Holding her arms out for so long was also beginning to make them ache; it was soon taking all her focus to fight through the pain and keep herself braced.

A cry left her mouth as the barrel had an unexpected moment of weightlessness. As it hit the water, the sudden jolt made her hands slip and she was slammed backwards. There was a dull thud as the back of her head smacked into the wood and her vision was suddenly filled with stars. Her eyes screwed shut in pain and she gripped the back of her head as, for a few seconds, the world went silent.

When her hearing returned, she could no longer hear rushing water and instead heard her name being called out. The river, it felt like, had also calmed down a great deal and she wasn’t being thrown about—in fact, it rather felt like her barrel had stopped moving altogether. Her brows furrowing, she slowly started to stand. It was hard, given how stiff and sore her body was; she wobbled quite a bit, though she couldn’t tell if that was her doing or the barrel’s doing.

“Baylee! Baylee, where are you!?” That was most definitely her father’s voice and he sounded absolutely hysterical. “Baylee!”

Peeking over the rim of the barrel, her eyes widened in shock. Her barrel was stuck against a fallen tree while, in the near distance, the others had washed up onto a rocky shore. The dwarves and her father were hurrying around on the shore, all looking for her and calling out her name.

‘I must’ve gotten knocked out,’ she thought, hugging herself as she shivered. Shaking her head, she stood on her tiptoes to let her voice carry out over the barrel and called out, “He-hello! I’m ov-v-ver h-here!” She squeaked as a golden head poked out from behind a boulder near her.

“I found her!” Fili shouted. “I found Baylee!” He jumped down onto the log and, holding his arms out to keep his balance, hurried over to her.

“H-How lo-long were you look-k-king for me?” she asked, reaching up when he was close enough.

“Nearly twenty minutes.” Crouching down, he grabbed her hand and easily lifted her up. Holding her against him like a child, he turned around and went back the way he had come. “We were starting to fear your barrel had gone past us or that you were—well, we don’t have to worry about that now.”

A soft squeak left her mouth as he jumped from the log to the shore. “I-I’m s-sorry…I-I think I p-p-passed out wh-when I hit m-m-my head…” She then shook her head. “H-how’s K-K-Kili’s le-leg?”

“It’s minor. Oin got the arrow out and bandaged him up already,” he answered. “Luckily, he keeps a suture kit tucked away in an inside pocket…” He looked up in time to see Bilbo and Thorin rushing towards him; it was hard to tell which one was more worried.

“Is she alright?!” Bilbo cried. “Is she hurt?!” He reached Fili first, practically pulling his daughter away from the dwarf and holding her against him.

“I-I’m fine, d-da’,” she told him with a quiet chuckle. “Just co-cold.” She hugged him in return, glad to find that he was safe and sound as well.

“She said that she thinks she passed out when she hit her head,” Fili told them.

“I see blood on her dress,” Thorin stated, the worry still on his face. “Baylee, are you _positive_ you’re fine?”

She nodded, giving him an extra squeeze of reassurance. “Y-yes. Th-the blood is f-from wh-when I hit m-my face on the b-b-barrel’s wall. M-my nose bl-bled for a b-bit.”

Bilbo swallowed hard as he nodded in understanding. “Th-thank Yavanna you’re safe,” he sniffled before kissing her temple. “I w-was so scared…I-If I had l-lost you, it wo-would have been all m-my fault!”

Fili and Thorin exchanged glances; reluctantly, Thorin nodded and the two dwarves moved away, giving the pair some space.

“We-well, you didn’t lose me,” Baylee assured her father. His body heat was soaking through her wet clothes, warming her _just_ enough to stop the majority of her shivering. “So, you d-don’t have to think about it. I’m s-sorry I scared you, though.”

“You’re s-safe now and th-that’s all th-that matters to me. You’re _s-safe_.”

“You’re safe, too,” she told him, a small smile on her lips. “I…I was really scared when I saw th-that you weren’t in a barrel. We’re hobbits. We c-can’t swim.”

He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “That _is_ true,” he agreed. He turned his head and kissed her temple once more. “My sweet, little girl…I love you.”

“I love you, too, da’.” She gave him another squeeze, this one a bit tighter than the first.

Finally, Bilbo set her down on the ground and looked her over, wanting to make extra sure that she had no injuries. He couldn’t see any, aside from a few bruises, and he sighed in relief. Then, shrugging off his coat, he wrapped it around her. “You need this far more than me,” he told her, being sure to get her arms into the sleeves before he buttoned it up. “Now, let’s get you back to the others, alright? They’re worried about you, too.” Taking her hand, he started to lead her off.

“Ah, good! She’s alright!” Bofur grinned as the two hobbits approached the group.

“Are yeh sure she’s alright? I see some blood on the hem o’ her dress there,” Oin frowned.

“I got a bloody nose earlier,” she told him, speaking loud enough so that he wouldn’t need his hearing trumpet. She watched him nod in understanding before she looked around at the others. “Are any of you hurt?

Nori shook his head. “Aside from Kili’s wound an’ a bunch o’ small cuts an’ bruises, we’re all fine.”

Bifur then spoke, letting out a laugh when he had finished. “Don’t think any o’ us is going t’ need a bath for a few weeks after that, though,” Dori translated.

“Aye, I’ve seen enough water t’ last me a lifetime,” Dwalin grumbled. He then shook his head. “We need t’ start thinking about where t’ go from here. We’ve no food, no weapons, an’ barely any clothes.”

“ _Most_ of us don’t have weapons,” Bilbo corrected. “Baylee and I have our swords.”

At that, she frowned and looked around for Bombur. “Actually, Bombur has my sword…I don’t see him, though.”

“That’s because he’s layin’ on the other side o’ that rock there,” Bofur snorted, using his thumb to motion at a boulder some yards away. “He’s in a right foul mood, though, so I’ll go see if he still has your sword.”

She nodded in understanding. “Thank you.”

“We need to make for Laketown,” Thorin said, bringing them back on subject. “We’ll continue to follow the river; it’s bound to take us to the lake. Once there, we’ll use what coin we have left to buy provisions and—hopefully—some weapons and clothes. Going by what Master Baggins told me, we have just over a month until Durin’s Day. That should give us _just_ enough time to reach the mountain.”

“Then why’d we even get out o’ the barrels?” Ori questioned, his brows furrowing. “They’d be a lot quicker t’ take than by going on foot.”

“Aye, especially with those orcs chasin’ after us,” Gloin agreed. “We don’t know how far behind they are.”

“They’re at least twenty miles behind us,” Dwalin told them, his brow cocked.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “I’m not so sure about you lads, but I would much rather be mostly-dry by the time night comes instead of sitting in a wet barrel.”

Balin nodded in agreement. “Not t’ mention, we don’t know what the next stretch o’ river is going t’ be like. It might be more rapids, it might be calm. Either way, we’ve nothin’ t’ steer the barrels with, either.”

Baylee squinted slightly and took a few steps away from the group. Peering down the river, she could see something coming _up_ the current. Whatever it was, though, she couldn’t tell; it was still too far away.

“What is it?” She squeaked and looked up onto to find Fili coming to stand beside her.

“Out there on the river,” she told him, pointing at the thing as it moved. “What is that?”

“It…almost looks like a boat…” he murmured his brows furrowing. He looked back at the group. “Hey…I think there’s a boat coming this way.”

“What?” Thorin frowned before turning around. Seeing the supposed boat slowly making its way up against the current, his eyes widened.

It was then Bofur came hurrying out from behind the boulder, Baylee’s sword in hand and his eyes wide. “There’s a barge!” he called. “There’s a barge comin’ this way!” He was careful to hold the sword away from him as he carried it back to its owner.

Baylee thanked him and, giving it a quick look-over, returned it to its scabbard.

“We have a way out o’ here, then!” Ori grinned. “There might be some hope o’ us reaching the mountain in time, after all!”

“That’s _if_ the bargeman is willin’ t’ ferry us,” Gloin countered. “He may not want t’ take on thirteen dwarves an’ two hobbits as passengers.”

“We’ve got coin,” Kili spoke up. “We could pay him.”

“Aye, but we can’t pay him too much. We need t’ buy supplies an’ clothes, after all,” Nori said, watching Bofur walk past on his way back to fetch Bombur.

At that, Bofur snorted. “Like you’ve ever had t’ worry about _payin’_ for things.” He laughed as Nori punched him in the leg.

Baylee frowned, though she had said nothing; throughout the journey, the others had unconsciously dropped hints that Nori may not have had as clean of a past as the rest of them and Bofur’s words just confirmed it. ‘For a thief, he at least seems loyal,’ she thought, rubbing her arms. Though her father’s coat brought her quite a bit of warmth, it was still damp and even the slightest breeze chilled it right down.

“This is a situation that needs a great deal o’ care an’ tact,” Balin said. “As such, I’ll be the one t’ do the talkin’. The rest o’ you can stay back here an’ look helpless.” He then let out a sigh. “I’ll tell him we’re on our way t’ the Iron Hills t’ visit our kin.”

“Wh-what will you tell him for me and Baylee?” Bilbo questioned.

“A father-daughter duo of adventure-seekin’ hobbits who asked t’ come along with us, o’ course.” He chuckled, his brow rising slightly.

“And if he doesn’t know what a hobbit is?” Dori asked. “What then?”

Balin dismissively waved his hand at that. “I don’t think we’ll need t’ worry about that.”

The others quietly murmured their agreements and their understandings.

Still rubbing her arms, Baylee looked around for a rock she could sit on. There were plenty lying about, of course, but she wanted to find one that she _wouldn’t_ need to climb onto. Before that could happen, though, someone grabbed her shoulder. Looking up, she smiled as she saw Thorin.

“Oakenshield.”

“Mouse-Lass.” He sat down on one of the boulders and pulled her against him, his eyes closing.

Wrapping her arms around him in return, she buried her face in the crook of his neck. She stood there in content silence for some minutes, letting Thorin hold her and stroke her hair.

“…I was scared we had lost you,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to scare anyone.” She felt him lean back just enough to kiss the top of her head.

“It couldn’t be helped. But…but thank Mahal and Yavanna you’re alright.”

“And I thank them both _you’re_ alright. That we’re all alright.” She smiled, feeling him press his forehead against hers.

His eyes partway open, he let his knuckles brush against her cheek and watched as she tried to lean into his touch.

“You’re warm,” she murmured.

“I’m glad you think so.” A soft sigh left his mouth as he moved his head from hers and held her against him once more. He kept his arms wrapped around her, acting as a bit of a wall to protect her from the chilled air. Turning his head slightly, he watched the bargeman slowly making his way up the river. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to find you something warm to wear in the near future. Especially with colder weather coming…”

“I just need a coat or cloak,” she told him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

His brow rose and he frowned. “No, you and your father definitely need something heavier,” he told her. “Even we dwarves will need some heavier clothing if we want to last in the harsh climate outside the mountain.” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes; he was beginning to wonder if, maybe, he should have her remain in Laketown, where he could rest assured that she’d be warm and safe. “Remember, Mouse-Lass: This isn’t the same climate as your peaceful Shire. During the cold months, the weather can be cruel and unforgiving.”

“I can believe that,” she murmured. “Even from afar, the mountain looks cold.” Thorin was warming her enough that her head was starting to grow fuzzy with sleep. As such, she leaned back slightly, an apologetic smile on her lips as he looked at her in confusion. “You’re warm enough that I’m starting to drift off to sleep,” she explained with a chuckle. “And something tells me that’s not a very good idea right now.”

Nodding in understanding, he kissed her forehead. “You’re right. We’re in a bit of a precarious situation at the moment.” He glanced back at the bargeman. “I hope he’ll be willing to ferry us…I have no idea how far we are from Laketown. Obviously close enough for a bargeman, but traveling by river is far faster than traveling on foot…”

Kissing his cheek, she turned around in his arms, also looking at the bargeman. “Balin said he’d offer him payment. From what I’ve heard about _most_ humans, they’ll do anything for some coin.”

He looked down at her, amused. “…You’ve never met a human before?”

“No. Until you lot came along, I had never met a dwarf, either—I had seen them, of course, but never spoke with one.”

“Then how did you know the polite way to greet a dwarf?”

“I read it in a book.”

He couldn’t help but snort at her answer. “You read it in a book?” She nodded. “That’s both interesting and amusing…What book was it?”

“A book of fairytales,” she chuckled. “The story was called ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’.”

“An interesting title…what was it about?”

“A human princess gets saved by a group of seven dwarves when her royal carriage is attacked by bandits. They let her stay with them for a few days to gather her strength before escorting her back to her home realm.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “There’s a lot more to it than that, of course, but I remember really enjoying the part where they taught her how to use a battle axe.”

Thorin snorted again before also yawning. “This sounds like a story I may have to read in the future.”

She smiled, leaning against him. “It’s in one of my books back in Bag End. Sadly, that’s the only fairytale with dwarves in it.”

“It sounds like I will have to read you some dwarvish fairytales in the future,” he chuckled. “For now, though, it looks like the bargeman has docked. We should go over there.”

Nodding in agreement, she reluctantly stepped away from him when he unwrapped his arms from around her. A shiver ran down her spine as the air cooled down the damp corduroy once more. Beside her, Thorin stood up and, offering her his hand, started to guide her towards Balin.

As they got closer, they could see that there was a small dock that had been built into the shore. It was here the bargeman had moored his vessel so he could begin gathering barrels. Seeing the longbow on his back, the dwarves and hobbits didn’t want to get _too_ close.

“Ex-excuse me,” Balin called out, slowly approaching the man. “That barge o’ yours over there—it wouldn’t happen t’ be for hire, would it?”

Standing upright and holding one of the barrels sidesways, he cocked his brow at Balin. “And what makes you think I would want to help you?” He walked back to his barge, where he set the barrel down.

“Those boots look like they’ve seen better days,” Balin answered, daring to get closer still. “As has that coat o’ yours. An’ no doubt you’ve some hungry mouths t’ feed back home.” When he saw the man pause at the mention of hungry mouths, he smiled. “How many bairns?”

Again, the man paused, as if debating whether or not he should trust the dwarf with such information. “…Three. Two girls and a boy,” he said after a moment. With the first barrel in place, he headed off to fetch the second.

“An’ your wife? I’d imagine she’s a beauty.”

“Yes, she was.” He picked up the second barrel, not noticing the collective wince of the group.

Balin paled. “Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Come on, come one! Enough with the niceties,” Dwalin grumbled, crossing his arms in frustration.

Setting down the second barrel, the man cocked his brow. “What’s your hurry?” he questioned.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes slightly. “What’s it t’ you?”

Resting his hands atop the rim of the barrel, the man looked them over. “I would like to know who you are and what business you have in these lands,” he answered after a moment.

“We’re simple merchants from the Blue Mountains on our way t’ visit our kin in the Iron Hills,” Balin replied, the words easily leaving his mouth.

“Simple merchants, hm?” Baylee could see that he was looking over the dents and cracks in the two barrels he had retrieved.

‘He knows,’ she thought, biting her lower lip.

“We need supplies, food, and weapons,” Thorin said. “Can you help us?”

The man raised his brow. “I know where these barrels came from,” he told them. “I don’t know what business you had with the elves, but I don’t think it ended well.” Leaving his barge yet again, he went to retrieve another barrel. “No one enters Laketown except by leave of the Master, who has acquired his wealth through trade with the Woodland Realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil.”

Balin looked back at Thorin, a mild look of panic on his face. It was clear they weren’t about to get this man’s help; despite that, however, Thorin mouthed ‘Offer him more’ to his old friend.

“I’d wager there are ways t’ get into that city unseen,” he then challenged.

“Yes, but for that, you would need a smuggler.” The man sounded amused.

“An’ for that, we’ll pay double.”

His brows furrowed, the offer making him pause once more. After a moment, though, he moved to continue getting his barrels, though he said nothing. It was clear he was having an internal debate with himself.

Baylee felt someone nudge her on her right. Looking, she found her father standing there, trying to seem as innocent as he could be. He quietly cleared his throat as he glanced down at his daughter before looking at the man with a small nod.

Her brows furrowed and pointed at herself in confusion.

Bilbo nodded. His expression changed into one of sadness, complete with his lower lip stuck out in what he had always called a ‘booboo lip.’

Biting her lower lip, Baylee nodded, though she felt uncertain. Letting go of Thorin’s hand, she made her way to the forward.

Thorin frowned when he felt her let go of his hand. Before he could stop her, though, she was already out of reach. He moved to follow after her, but an arm was suddenly thrust out in front of him, stopping him. He looked down, confused to find Bilbo standing there.

“Trust her,” he whispered. “You’re about to see how she was able to worm her way out of many a punishment as a child.”

Swallowing hard, she approached the man. “Ex-excuse me, sir?” she asked.

Turning around, the man looked down at her in confusion. He looked her over, concern quickly replacing his confusion. “What is a child doing traveling with all these dwarves?”

She gave him a small, nervous smile. “O-Oh, I’m not a child. I-I’m a hobbit, sir,” she told him.

“A hobbit?” he repeated, brow rising.

“Yes, s-sir, a hobbit. We’re also called halflings. I-I assure you, I’ve very much an adult hobbit, though.”

“I’ve heard of your kind but I thought you were nothing more than fairytales.” His head tilted slightly in curiosity. “Why are you traveling with a group of dwarves?”

“My father and I got tired of our qui-quiet lives,” she explained, “so when these lads were passing through the Shire, we asked if we could come alo-along. We’ve re-regretted it at times, but overall, tra-traveling with them has been quite nice.” She rubbed her arms slightly, trying to chase away the cold. Her mind was racing; what should she tell him? Should she tell him the truth or should she continue on with Balin’s cover story? “Bu-but, um, before you make any decisions ab-bout helping us, I thought you sh-should know just _why_ we’re so badly nee-needing help. Yes, it involves the elves but th-they were the ones who attacked _us_.”

“The elves attacked you?” At that, the man sounded a bit unconvinced.

She nodded. “Y-you see, we had greatly under esti-estimated how much food we would need to get through the forest,” she continued. “When we _did_ run out, we kept going, though. And we did th-that for almost five days. But then we saw the elves having one of their for-forest feasts and we went to beg for food…”

Thorin’s brow rose as he listened to Baylee talk with the bargeman. Glancing down at Bilbo, he saw that the hobbit had covered the lower half of his face with his hand, though the slight crinkle in the corners of his eyes told the dwarf that he was hiding a grin. “I can see what you mean, now,” he murmured.

“He’s probably also going to take some pity on her because of her eye and how cold the poor dear is,” Bilbo quietly replied. “Though, I warn you: She may utilize this tactic against you one day or worse: Teach your future children how to use it against you.” He shook his head, an almost grim expression on his face as he spoke, making it hard to tell if he was joking or not.

Thorin, however, thought he was and, because of that, was forced to bite down on his tongue so he wouldn’t let out a hearty laugh. “I will be sure to keep that in mind,” he told him, his voice quiet. He watched as Baylee turned towards Balin, asking him something. When the older dwarf nodded, she turned back towards the human, nodding as well.

The bargeman let out a heavy sigh and, after a moment, nodded in agreement to whatever he and Baylee had discussed. The dwarves who stood closer to them let out sighs of relief and Thorin knew she had managed to secure them passage into Laketown. It seemed part of the agreement involved the dwarves helping to gather up all the barrels, as the group was soon dispersing to do just that.

Baylee came back to Thorin and Bilbo, her hands running over her braid. “We’ll still have to pay him,” she said, “and help gather up the barrels, but he’ll smuggle us in. But we also have to follow his instructions because, apparently, the Master of Laketown has spies everywhere.” She let out a small squeak as Bilbo hugged her.

“You did well, dear,” he told her, gently patting her on the back. “I’m sorry I made you do that, but I honestly think you’re the only one who would have been able to change his mind.” Leaning back, he smiled down at her.

“If you can make a distrustful human agree to help us,” Thorin said with a small grin, “I can’t wait to see what wonders you could do when you become queen.” Leaning over, he kissed her temple.

She smiled, her cheeks darkening from their praises. “I-I don’t think it was anything _that_ im-impressive…I just told him why the elves had attacked us. Yes, I embellished it slightly to make us seem more pathetic than we actually are, but…” Shrugging, she glanced at the others as they gathered up the barrels. “I hope they behave themselves. Bard will be risking quite a bit to smuggle us into Laketown…”

“I’ll do my best to see that they do,” Thorin assured her.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I just wanted to thank everyone for the lovely comments they've been leaving; they're highly appreciated and greatly motivating ❤️ However, I might have to take a break from posting soon, as I'm quickly using up my buffer thanks to a bout of writer's block. Hopefully, this won't be the case, but I thought I would warn you just in case it does happen.

All was quiet while the barge floated through the water, surrounded on all sides by thick, unyielding fog. The air here was even colder, though the dwarves didn’t seem to notice the change in temperature. The hobbits, however, very much _did_ notice; father and daughter were currently huddled up together near the stern of the barge, doing their best to keep each other warm.

“H-how much longer is it go-go-going to be until we reach Laketown?” Bilbo asked, looking up at Bard.

“An hour at the least,” he replied. “As well as I know this lake, I need to be cautious with this fog.”

Bilbo nodded, letting out a small sigh as he turned his gaze back out towards the waters.

Baylee, who had her legs pulled up to her chest and tucked under both Bilbo’s jacket and her dress, let out a small sigh. “Is it always this co-cold here? It’s only the beginning of September…”

“The cold of winter comes fast to these northern lands,” he replied with a chuckle. “Though it’s only autumn, we’ll have snow by the time November comes around. Worry not, though, little mistress. Once this fog burns away, the sun will come out and warm your chilled bones.”

“Go-good,” she said. “Now if only I could finish drying off…I feel as if I mi-might freeze solid…”

Bard’s brow rose in amusement as he watched Bilbo scoot closer to Baylee and wrap his arm around her. “I take it, then, that your homeland doesn’t get very cold?”

“Oh, it ca-can,” Bilbo answered. “We like to st-stay inside when it’s cold, _especially_ if we’re so-soaking wet. But when we _do_ have t-t-to go out, we bundle ourselves up quite nicely!”

“I notice neither of you wear shoes. Do you even go barefoot come winter?”

Nodding, Baylee glanced up at him. “Yes, though if we’re go-going to be out in the snow for quite s-s-some time, then we’ll wrap some cloth around the-them or put on boots.”

Her father’s nose scrunched up. “Mostly the cl-cloth, though. Not many hobbits can st-stand to wear boots. They’re just s-so constricting…not much room to wiggle your toes a-about.” He lightly shook his head, earning another chuckle from Bard.

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine walking around barefoot all of the time. Then again, we humans don’t have nearly as tough of feet as you halflings.”

Bilbo lifted one of his legs slightly, letting him look down at his fuzzy foot without leaning forward. “It’s nice, feeling the earth under yo-your feet. In my opinion, it helps you keep your ba-balance better, since your foot can feel the dips and rises of the ground. Wearing shoes makes that a ha-hard task to accomplish.”

“Th-the one upside to shoes is you never have t-to worry about mud getting between your toes,” Baylee added. “No need t-to worry about that disgust-ti-ting squidgy feeling or having to wonder if yo-you actually stepped in mud or p-poo or both.”

“Baylee!” Bilbo scolded, his brows furrowing.

“Wh-what? It’s true and you know it, da’,” she pouted. She glanced up at Bard, who was snickering at her comment. “Why do you think fa-farmers with livestock wear sh-shoes? So they _know_ they’re not getting p-poo between their toes!”

A heavy sigh left Bilbo’s mouth and he raised a hand to his forehead. “You’re th-thirty-th-three, dear— _not_ th-thirteen. You don’t need to be complaining about having poo be-between your toes.”

“I would imagine it’s a valid worry when one does not wear shoes,” Bard said, doing his best to quell his laughter. Though he knew they were adults, he couldn’t help but see them as little more than bickering children at the moment. “You will not have that problem once you’re in Laketown, however. At most, the only thing you’ll have to worry about is acquiring a splinter or two.”

“I’d like t’ see a splinter get through a hobbit’s foot.” The hobbits looked up to find Bofur walking towards them. Sitting beside Bilbo, he wrapped his arm around the hobbit, who immediately let out a sigh of content at the increase in warmth. “The skin on their feet is tough like leather…it’d have t’ be a mighty sharp splinter t’ get through it.” He then glanced over his shoulder at the bargeman. “About how much longer until we reach the city?” he asked.

Bard raised his brow, knowing that the way Bofur was holding Bilbo was a bit more intimate than a normal hold to help keep him warm. As such, he was left suspecting that they were more than just friends. “An hour at the least,” he replied.

“The fog is m-ma-making it slow going,” Baylee added, knowing Bofur would want to know _why_ it would take them that long.

“That’s understandable. Don’t want t’ be crashing into any logs or rocks,” Bofur chuckled.

“Logs or rocks?” he chuckled. “No, master dwarf, I have no concern for logs or rocks. It’s the ruins of ancient Esgaroth that I must keep an eye out for.” While he spoke, he turned the rudder of the barge a bit and the vessel turned slightly to the right.

A few seconds later, the trio gawked as a large, stone pillar was unveiled from the fog. As they passed by it, they could see that there was only a foot or two between the pillar and the side of the barge.

“As you can see,” Bard said, amused by their awe, “the ruins can be practically invisible if you’re not looking for them.”

Bilbo frowned. “W-wouldn’t it be easier to sail d-d-down the middle of the lake, then?”

“We _are_ in the middle of the lake, little master.” He turned the rudder again, letting the boat turn to the left a few degrees. “The ancient city was nearly three times as large as Laketown is today…and that was just the portion in the lake.”

Baylee cocked her head and turned slightly. “S-so, part of Esgaroth was on l-land?” she asked. “Wh-what about Laketown? Is it entirely in the w-wa-water or partly on land, too?”

“B-Baylee, you shouldn’t ask him s-such questions when he’s trying to concentrate,” Bilbo scolded. “We don’t n-need to be crashing into any ruins because you wanted t-to know about the placement of a city that’s long-gone.”

Slightly shaking his head, Bard quietly laughed. “It’s quite alright, little master. I can use my eyes and my mouth at the same time.” He glanced down at them, finding that Baylee’s cheeks had gone red with embarrassment from her father’s scolding. “Ancient Esgaroth sat on both the land and the lake,” he explained. “The lake acted as a divider between the two halves of the city: On land was where everyone worked and traded while, out in the water, was where everyone lived. This way, should any sort of attack happen, they could raise the draw bridge and keep out the invading army.”

She nodded in understanding. “Th-that makes sense…what happened to the city, th-then? _Something_ must have happened to make pe-people abandon it in favor of Laketown’s location?”

“During the second age, there was a great cataclysm that changed the very foundations of the earth. Almost a third of Middle Earth disappeared beneath the waves of the ocean, but to the east and south, new lands rose up from the depths as the world was turned from flat to rounded.” Seeing the outline of another ruin approaching, he turned the barge to the starboard. “This event sent powerful earthquakes throughout all the lands and it was these earthquakes that rocked the city so hard, it became too dangerous for people to continue living out on the lake. At least, while the foundations were made of stone.”

“Huh…Wonder what made all o’ that happen?” Bofur murmured.

“The greed of men,” Bard answered. “I do not know the specifics, but an ancient people called the Númenóreans tried to attack and take control of the Undying Lands. Understandably, this angered Eru and, not only did he destroy their armies, but he made it so no mortal will ever be able to reach the Undying Lands—only elves.” He glanced down at the hobbit lass to find her staring at him in awe.

“Wow,” she murmured. “How di-did you come to learn all this?”

“It was taught to me by my father, and to him by his father and so on and so forth for tens of generations. You see, there was a group of Númenóreans who hadn’t succumbed to the same greed and lust for power. It was they who came to Middle Earth and founded the realms of Arnor—where your beloved Shire is—and Gondor in the south…”

Bilbo quietly laughed, shaking his head as he heard Bard continue to give Baylee a little history lesson. “I wasn’t aware she had become such a scholar during our journey,” he mumbled, resting his head against Bofur’s shoulder.

“The whole reason your wee lassie wanted t’ come on this journey was t’ see new lands an’ learn about new people,” Bofur chuckled, his eyes closing as he rested his head atop Bilbo’s. “It shouldn’t surprise you that she’s tryin’ t’ glean information from everyone we meet.”

“That is true…Originally, that was my reasoning for coming along, too.”

His brow rose, but his eyes remained shut. “What do you mean, ‘originally’? What new reason would you have for continuin’ this journey?”

A soft laugh left his mouth. “I have a few reasons. One being that I promised to see the end of this with you all.”

“An’ the others?”

“To watch over my daughter for as long as possible. And the third reason happens to be holding me right now.”

Bofur felt his cheeks grow red and a tender smile came to his lips. “Well, now you’re just bein’ sappy,” he quietly teased. “I’m surprised that fifteenth share o’ treasure isn’t on your list.”

“No, it’s not very high up, admittedly. I don’t have much use for even more wealth, after all. Anyway, with Baylee and I each getting a share, that’s more than enough to last us three—” He then paused. “Oh. Wait. That’s right.”

“…You forgot that she won’t be comin’ back t’ the Shire with us, didn’t you?” His voice was even quieter now.

Bilbo nodded and let out a sigh. “Yes…you would think I’d be used to the thought by now.”

His brow rose. “Why’s that? It’s only been—what, a month? A month and a half?—since you found out that your wee lassie is Thorin’s One, let alone that meanin’ she’d be stayin’ in Erebor.” He gave Bilbo a gentle squeeze, feeling the hobbit lean in closer to him. “Mahal’s beard, it took me nigh five years just t’ come t’ terms with the fact that me own brother got married an’ moved into her family’s mansion. I can only imagine how much worse it’d be if he had moved acr—” He suddenly paused, his eyes widening as a distant shape rose out of the fog.

The Lonely Mountain.

He wasn’t the only one to have noticed; the rest of the dwarves had also fallen silent and were standing in awe as they beheld the sight. Even the hobbits had fallen quiet and were staring at the distant peak.

“Th-that…is a _very_ big mountain,” Baylee said. She knew they were still nearly fifty miles from the mountain and yet, it looked just as big here as the Misty Mountains looked from just a mile away.

Bard’s brows furrowed as he saw his passengers’ reactions. He, of course, knew how the mountain had once been a sacred stronghold of the dwarves. Like other citizens of Laketown, however, he had come to think that, thanks to the mountain being defiled by Smaug, the mountain would be considered a cursed and wretched place now.

“Baylee.” Though he had spoken softly, it almost sounded like Thorin’s voice had been at full volume thanks to how quiet everything now was.

Getting to her feel, Baylee made her way to the front of the barge. As she came to stand beside Thorin, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Erebor…Our home. Isn’t it beautiful?” he murmured, holding her close to him. “Its snowcapped peaks still glisten in the sunlight, just like I remember.”

“It is lovely,” she agreed, a small smile on her lips. Though she did find the sight of the mountain to be quite lovely, she couldn’t help but feel intimidated by it as well. It was far bigger than she thought it would be, which made her feel smaller than ever. She could only imagine how much more intimidating it would be at its front gates.

He looked down at her, smiling tenderly. “One day soon, you and I will sit beneath that mountain as king and queen,” he told her, watching a blush begin to creep its way across her face. “I daresay you’ll be the smallest queen the mountain’s ever seen.”

Her cheeks growing a bit darker, she gently nudged him. “ _V-very_ funny,” she told him, brow raised.

Chuckling, he gazed back up at the mountain only to frown as the fog hid it from sight once more. A soft sigh left his mouth and he moved to sit down with his back against the railing before motioning for her to sit with him. When she sat down beside him, he once more wrapped his arm around her, holding her close; he did his best to ignore the snickering he could hear coming from Fili and Kili.

“How’re you doing?” he asked, his voice a little louder now. “You still look like you’re freezing…”

“I am,” she admitted, snuggling in close to him. “B-but I was assured th-that once the sun burns away the f-fog, it’ll get warmer.” She looked up at him, a reassuring smile on her lips. “N-not to mention, you’re quite warm, so I sh-should be warming up soon.”

“That’s good to hear…I don’t want my future queen to turn into an ice sculpture, even if she would make an extremely lovely one.” Closing his eyes, he let his head tilt back to rest against the wood. “What were you and Bard talking about?”

“He was telling m-me about the history of Laketown and E-Es-Esgaroth,” she answered, “and how the ruins we’re sa-sailing through were once part of the original city.”

His brow rose. “There was a city here _before_ Laketown? I was unaware of that.”

She nodded, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the bit of extra warmth he brought her. “During the second age, th-there was a large, sprawling city. But there was a m-ma-massive earthquake that all but destroyed it. S-so they rebuilt on the southern end of the lake and used w-wood instead since it seemed to handle earthquakes b-better.”

“Interesting…I’m surprised he would know such history. Most times, among the humans, it’s the rich who are educated in such matters. But with him being a bargeman…”

“M-maybe Laketown educates everyone, n-no matter their social status?” She shrugged. “It’s what we do in the Sh-Shire.”

“And what we dwarves do. But the race of Men has always been peculiar when it comes to social status. They’re not allowed to marry outside of it, the poor remain uneducated while the rich have only the best tutors…” He shook his head and let out a quiet sigh. “I wonder how the bargeman will sneak us into the city…”

“He has a na-name, you know,” she chuckled, her brow rising. “I _know_ I told you it’s B-Bard.”

While part of him wanted to tease her about ‘bargeman’ being his title and how he liked to call people by such, he managed to refrain. Instead, as he started to stroke her shoulder, and looked around at the others. “I suppose it slipped my mind, as I haven’t been the one talking to him,” he told her. “In all seriousness, though, did he tell you how he plans to smuggle us in?”

“No. I’m afraid it d-didn’t come up in our conversation…I do hope that what he has planned, though, wo-won’t be _too_ dangerous.”

“I also hope he isn’t about to betray us,” Thorin sighed. “We paid him good money to get us into the city…the last thing we need is to get thrown into jail again. Something tells me that, if we did get caught here, your father won’t be of much help.”

“Why is that?”

“Thranduil’s dungeons were in a remote part of his palace. It was easy for you and your father to sneak around, unnoticed—especially your father, given that he has that ring of his. Laketown, on the other hand, will more than likely have its dungeon close to the heart of the city so that it can be under surveillance all of the time.” He looked at Bard, finding that he was now talking with Bilbo and Bofur. “Even with your father’s ring, it’d be far too dangerous for him to try and break us out if we were to get caught.”

She nodded slowly in understanding. “I su-suppose that makes sense,” she murmured before covering her mouth as she yawned. Despite having been unconscious for who-knows-how-long earlier, she didn’t feel at all rested.

“You should try and get a small nap in, Mouse-Lass,” Thorin told her. “I’ll keep you warm.”

She nuzzled in a bit closer to him, turning slightly so that her arms were tucked between the two of them. Normally, she would argue against taking a nap, as she didn’t want to be caught off guard if something were to happen. This time, however, she put up no argument. “Al-alright,” she said, “that sounds quite agreeable to me.” Opening an eye, she glanced up at him to find a small, content smile on his lips. A content smile of her own came to her lips when she closed her eye again.

* * *

When she next opened her eyes, it was because Bofur was gently shaking her. She covered her mouth as she yawned and looked up at him blearily. “What is it?” she questioned. She found that he was kneeling in front of her, a look of mild worry on his face.

“We’ve nearly reached the city,” he told her. “Bard needs us t’ hide in the barrels.” As she yawned again, he gently picked her up and set her on her feet before standing himself. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the others beginning to climb into the various barrels; one dwarf to each barrel.

“The-there are only fourteen barrels,” Baylee commented, her brows furrowing slightly. Glancing around, she couldn’t see her father and figured that he had already climbed into a barrel. “I take it da’ a-and I will be sharing one?” Thorin, she saw, was getting help from Dwalin as he scrambled into a barrel.

Bofur nodded. “Aye. The two o’ you are small enough, you should still have plenty of room.” A small smile came to his lips as he looked down at her. “Come on; I’ll help you get in.” He led her over to the barrels that were closest to the stern, peeking down into them to see which one Bilbo was hiding in.

“I’m over here.” Looking to his left, Bofur saw Bilbo peeking out from his barrel. “Lift her up and I’ll help her in.”

Despite knowing it was coming, a quiet squeak managed to leave Baylee’s mouth as she was lifted up. A few seconds later, she was released and a short drop left her standing in the barrel alongside her father.

Bofur snorted at the sight; almost the entirety of Bilbo’s head was visible above the rim of the barrel, but only the top inch or so of Baylee’s head could be seen. “Now sit down, you two,” he told them. “We don’t need the top inch o’ Baylee’s head givin’ us away.”

Pouting, she rose up on her tiptoes and peeked over the rim at him. “You’re not fu-funny,” she jokingly scolded, wagging a finger at him. She could see the cheeky grin on Bofur’s face as he started to walk away.

“Come on, dear. Let’s get ourselves situated,” Bilbo chuckled. As he moved to sit, he gently grabbed her forearm and pulled her down with him.

“Is th-the plan to just hide in the ba-barrels, then?” she quietly asked, pulling both her dress and the coat over her knees when she got in a relatively comfortable position. As small as she and Bilbo were, it was still a bit difficult for them both to fit in the bottom of the barrel while sitting, where it was narrower than the middle.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “Bard only told us to climb into the barrels and for us to trust him.” He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close in hopes of sharing some body heat again. Now that they were in a relatively enclosed space without any breezes, they would hopefully be able to warm up a bit more. “How was your nap?”

“Sh-short.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’ll be fine, though. I’ve go-gone for longer on less.”

He nodded in agreement and opened his mouth to speak when Bard’s voice quietly called out to them, “Hush now! There are guards ahead.”

All fell silent; they were so quiet, in fact, that it was almost eerie. Baylee’s brows furrowed; she could hear the gentle lapping of the lake against the barge’s hull as well as the quiet creaking of the barge as it was pushed forward through the water. In the distance, she could hear laughter and, after barely a minute, she could hear cursing as well.

Evidently, Bilbo had heard the cursing as well because he pursed his lips and, shifting slightly, he covered Baylee’s ears. The action _almost_ made her burst into a fit of giggles; she was used to hearing people curse, whether it was the dwarves or the drunken patrons of the Green Dragon. She had even said a handful of words herself that were far worse than the ones currently being said by the humans.

There was one good thing about his parental actions, however, and that was his hands, being quite warm, nicely defrosted the tips of her ears.

After a few moments, the barge came to a halt. Both hobbits frowned; the noises outside the barrels didn’t sound _nearly_ plentiful enough to be inside a city. Shifting once more, Bilbo poked the cork out of the barrel’s bunghole and, pressing his eye against the hole, was able to see that they were temporarily moored at a floating dock.

“Can anyone see anythin’?” he heard Nori loudly whisper.

“He’s talking to some men,” he replied, also in a loud whisper. His eye then widened in shock. “And now he’s pointing right at us!”

Baylee’s eyes shot wide open and her heart began to race. Bard was betraying them!? But he had seemed so trustworthy!

“Now he’s shaking their hands,” Bilbo continued, fear now filling his voice.

“What?!” Thorin hissed.

“That villain! He’s sellin’ us out!” Dwalin growled.

Bilbo swallowed hard, returning to his sitting position. He looked down at Baylee, his worry all too evident on his face. When he saw her turn to look at him, instead of fear on her face, he saw confusion—and that she was looking above them. His brows furrowing, he turned his head and looked up in time to see a net full of fish dangling over them.

The two hobbits just barely had enough time to cover their heads as hundreds of small, dead fish were dropped down into their barrel. Baylee let out a small yelp that was, thankfully drowned out by the wet smacking sounds of the fish as they piled atop one another.

‘Ew, ew, ew, _ew_!’ she thought, her eyes clenched shut. While part of her had to admit that this was a bit of an ingenious plan on Bard’s part, most of her wished that he had found a different way to conceal them—one that didn’t involve oodles of fish. ‘Oh, they’re all cold and damp, too! Ugh, at least they’re fresh…we won’t smell _too_ bad that way.’ A shudder still ran through her body.

What felt like ages passed by when, in fact, it had only been ten minutes. The barge came to a halt again and, this time, a friendly voice could be heard (though it was rather muffled thanks to all fish).

“Halt! Goods inspection!” the man sounded like he was an older fellow. “Ah, Bard, it’s you. Papers, please.”

“Morning, Percy,” Bard said in reply, his tone warmer than it had been towards the dwarves.

“Anything to declare, lad?”

“Nothing, but I am cold and tired and ready for home.”

“You and me both,” Percy laughed. There was a dull thudding sound before he spoke again. “Here you go. All in order.”

A third voice suddenly joined in. “Ah, ah, ah…Not so fast.” This voice sounded far less friendly than either Bard or Percy. “Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only…they’re _not_ empty, are they, Bard? If I recall correctly, you’re licensed as a bargeman. _Not_ a fisherman.”

“That’s none of your business,” Bard replied, his voice having a good deal of coolness to it now.

“Wrong. It’s the _Master’s_ business,” the third voice said, “which _makes_ it my business.”

“Oh, come on, Alfrid. Have a heart—people need to eat!” Bard argued.

“These fish are illegal!” Baylee heard a small splash and wondered if this Alfrid fellow had tossed one of the fish back into the lake. “Empty the barrels over the side.”

A fourth voice said, “You heard him. Into the canal. Come on—get a move on.” By the authoritative tone he used, Baylee guessed he was some sort of soldier.

“Folk in this town are struggling,” Bard said, his voice colder and just the slightest bit desperate. “Times are hard and food is scarce.”

“That’s not my problem, now is it?” Alfrid sneered.

‘Ooh, how I want to take one of these fish and hit that—that _arsemunch_ right across the face with it!’ Baylee thought, her lips pursing in a small pout.

“And when the people hear the Master is dumping fish back into the lake?” Bard then countered. “When the rioting starts, will it be your problem then?”

There was a momentary pause. Then, in a very begrudging tone, Alfrid ordered, “Stop.”

The living occupants of the barrels all let out quiet sighs of relief.

“Ever the people’s champion, eh, Bard?” Alfrid hissed. “Protector of the common folk? You might have their favor now, bargeman, but it won’t last.”

A few seconds later, they heard Percy call for the gate to be raised and the sound of squeaking metal filled their ears. Much to everyone’s joy, the barge started to move once more.

“The Master has his eye on you!” Alfrid called, trying to make himself sound threatening. “You’d do well to remember, that bargeman! We know where you live!”

In quite the exasperated tone, Bard called back, “It’s a small town, Alfrid. Everyone knows where everyone lives.”

It was nearly ten minutes before the barge was halted once again—this time, for good. The hobbits could hear the sounds of Bard beginning to knock over the barrels. As the combination of fish and dwarves came rolling out onto the deck of the barge, quiet cursing was heard. A squeak and a yelp then left Baylee and Bilbo’s mouths as their barrel was tipped onto its side and they were sent spilling out with the fish.

“Gross,” Baylee murmured, her nose scrunched up. She managed to get to her feet without much problem, but it was a different story for the dwarves.

Thanks to the sheer amount of fish littering the deck of the barge, the dwarves were having a hard time finding places to put their feet that _wouldn’t_ result in stepping on and crushing the fish. A few of them—namely Dwalin, Nori, and Bombur—didn’t much care, however, and stepped wherever they pleased.

“Follow me,” Bard told them, his voice a bit quiet, but commanding nonetheless. “Try to be as quiet as you can and _stay together_.”

Normally, the group would have been loath to take orders from a human, but they knew they couldn’t risk being found out now. Because of this, they remained quiet and did their best to stay together as Bard led them through back alleys and side streets. When they were almost home. They were almost to his home when a boy in his teens came running up to them.

“Da’! Da’, the house is being watched,” he said, his voice a bit breathless. Hearing this, Dwalin and Thorin quietly cursed, which drew the lad’s attention to the group of dwarves. “…Da’…why are you leading a troupe of dwarves through town?”

“It’s a long story, Bain,” Bard sighed, looking over his shoulder at the group. “We need to get them to the house without the Master’s spies catching them.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Thorin demanded, his voice quiet. The last thing he wanted was for his irritation to get them caught.

Shaking his head, Bard let out a sigh. “I’m not sure yet. Bain, where’s the house being watched from?”

“The front,” he replied. “I’m not sure how many there are, but I know there’s at least Mr. Thompson and Mr. Colbert.”

Bard slowly nodded, his eyes closing and a look of concentration coming to his face. He was quiet for many minutes as he thought their dilemma over, his brows seeming to furrow deeper and deeper as the minutes passed by. Just when the group was beginning to wonder if all hope was lost, he opened his eyes.

“I know a way to get you into my house,” he told them, “but you’re not going to like it.”  
  


* * *

Little over fifteen minutes later found the dwarves and hobbits climbing up and out of the toilet of Bard’s home (that, luckily, was free of any excrement thanks to the water having washed it away). One by one, they popped out of the toilet while Bain stood nearby to help if any of them needed it and to direct them around the corner and up the stairs. Being small enough, the Bagginses came up as a pair and, out of the whole group, were the only ones who needed assistance—and not just because of their heights. The water was nearly freezing, making them shiver quite badly.

“Th-th-there b-b-b-better b-b-be a fi-fi-fire up-p th-th-there,” Bilbo grumbled, his whole body shaking. He urged Baylee up the stairs, both of them moving as quick as they could.

“Da’…why are there dwarves climbing out of our toilet?” a girl in her mid-teens questioned.

“Will they bring us luck?” asked another girl, this one being around the age of ten or so.

“No, they won’t bring us luck, Tilda,” Bard answered quickly. Seeing their blue-tinged lips, he ushered the hobbits over towards the fireplace; it wasn’t very big, but it was warm. “We’ll need as many blankets as you can find. Once they’re all up here, I’ll explain everything.”

Baylee and Bilbo stood on either side of the fire, their hands held out towards the flames. Neither of them said a word, though the chattering of their teeth could be heard. A moment later, Baylee undid the buttons of Bilbo’s coat and peeled it off of her body, dropping it onto the floor; that was one less layer the heat had to fight past.

Soon, all thirteen dwarves were gathered in the house, leaving the space quite crowded. Some sat on chairs, some sat on benches by the table, while others remained standing off to one side so they wouldn’t be in the way. As Sigrid and Tilda passed out blankets, they thanked the girls before wrapping themselves up.

Rather than pass out blankets like his sisters, Bain instead grabbed a large cooking pot and, filling it partway with water and the rest of the way with wine, he went to hang it over the fire from a chain. He went into a side room—the pantry—for a few minutes only to return with a handful of spices and seasonings. Dumping these into the water and wine mixture, he fetched a spoon from the kitchen and gave the concoction a good stir.

“Here you go, miss,” Tilda said, holding out a blanket to Baylee.

Gladly taking it, Baylee gave her a small smile. “Th-thank you,” she said, quickly wrapping herself up.

Tilting her head slightly, Tilda looked her over. While Baylee was nearly a head shorter than her, she very much looked like an adult rather than a child. On top of that, she didn’t wear any shoes! “…I don’t mean to pry, miss, but where are your shoes?”

Baylee blinked, a bit taken aback by the question. She managed a laugh, however, and smile. “I’m a ho-hobbit,” she explained, doing her best to not stutter. “We don’t wea-wear shoes.” She watched as the girl’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“I thought hobbits were nothing more than fairytale creatures,” she gawked.

“I do-don’t blame you,” Baylee chuckled. “Most ho-hobbits don’t ever leave the Sh-Sh-Shire, so we’re a bit of an oddity on this side of the Mi-Misty Mou-Mountains.” The combination of the fire and the blanket was slowly beginning to warm her up.

Tilda frowned slightly as she looked Baylee over once more. “Hmm…It might be a bit big on you, but I’ve a dry dress you could wear,” she offered.

Her eyes widening slightly, Baylee smiled. “Y-yes, please. Th-that would b-b-be wonderful,” she replied. She started to follow the young girl across the house, the two of them having to weave their way through the crowd of dwarves before heading up a flight of stairs.

“So…why is there a group of dwarves and two hobbits hiding out in our house?” Tilda asked when they reached the top landing.

“It’s a bit com-complicated. But we were traveling to the Iron Hills,” she explained, remembering to use the cover story Balin had come up with. “W-we were making our w-way through Mirkwood when…a bit of a misunderstanding took place. N-Now the elf king wants to throw us in h-his dungeons.”

To her surprise, Tilda’s expression changed to one of excitement. “You mean you’re fugitives?” she chirped. “How exciting! We’ve never housed fugitives before!”

Feeling both confused and amused by her words, Baylee laughed. “Well, I cer-certainly hope not! And I ho-hope it doesn’t become a ha-habit for your family, either.” She pulled the blanket closer to her body, watching the girl as she searched through a trunk at the foot of a bed.

“I suppose it’d depend on the fugitive,” she said. “If da’ trusts you enough to smuggle you in, then you mustn’t be bad people.”

‘Or that we paid him a good amount of silver,’ Baylee thought. “I would li-like to think we are. We’ve co-committed no crimes, after all.”

Tilda nodded in understanding, though she continued to search through the chest; she was looking for one of her older, warmer dresses. “Why are two hobbits traveling with all those dwarves?” she then asked. “You said that hobbits aren’t keen on leaving the Shire and the stories da’ used to tell us said they were quiet folk who frowned upon going on adventures and the like.”

“M-my father and I are…well, we’re considered oddballs b-by hobbit standards. There’s a fam-family of hobbits called the Tooks who are known for being advent-venturous. We both have Took blood in us.”

Standing upright, Tilda held out a small pile of clothes towards her. “Has it been scary? Traveling this far away from the Shire?” She motioned to a changing curtain in the corner before taking the blanket from Baylee.

“At times, it’s be-been extremely scary,” she admitted, carrying the clothes behind the curtain. “We’ve run into tr-trolls, goblins, and wargs along the way.” There was a stool behind the curtain and she set the clothes atop it before beginning to remove her sword belt.

“Ooh, I don’t think I’d like that! That’s why you have a sword, then? To fight them off?”

“Mo-more like, I _try_ to fight them off. I’m neither the best n-nor the strongest fighter in the gr-group.” Leaning her sword against the wall, she started to unlace the front of her dress.

“But you _do_ know how to fight?”

“Essentially, y-yes. The dwarves taught me and da’ ho-how to fight along the way.” As she pulled her dress off, Tilda remained quiet; Baylee knew what she was thinking, though. “B-before you ask, no, my eye did not get like this from fighting.”

“…How then? If you don’t mind me asking, that is…”

A quiet sigh left her mouth—not from the question, but from the relief of removing her dress. She hadn’t realized just how heavy it had grown while wet and now she felt rather light. “I g-got it when one of the trolls threw me through so-some brambles,” she explained. Pulling the first piece of clothing from the pile, she found that it was a set of petticoats—ones that were surprisingly short for a girl Tilda’s size. “These petti-petticoats are quite short for a lass your height…” she commented.

“That’s because they’re from when I was smaller.” Tilda sounded quite pleased with herself for divulging this information. “We always save the clothes we grow out of so we can repurpose them in some way or give them to someone who needs them more than us.”

“We-well, they’re just about the per-perfect length for me,” she chuckled, tying the petticoats around her waist. They were heavier than her original petticoats, but they were also made of thicker, warmer material. “I suppose these are from wh-when you were hobbit sized.”

Tilda giggled. “They might be. I don’t quite remember how old I was when I gave them up.” She paused again before asking, “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

At that, Baylee chuckled. “How old d-do you _think_ I am?” Next came an underdress with long sleeves; this was a bit too big for her, so she rolled the sleeves up to the elbow. The hem of the dress reached almost to her ankles.

“…Well, you’re small like a child, but you look like you could be an adult…So…maybe twenty? Twenty-one?”

“Add twelve years.” She quietly laughed when, after a few seconds, she heard the girl gasp in shock.

“You’re almost as old as my da’!”

Pulling on the overdress, she found that it, too, was too big for her, but not by much. Not that she minded, however—she was already feeling _much_ warmer. Grabbing her sword, she belted it into place around her waist before gathering up the raggedy heap that was her dress. She stepped out from behind the curtain. “How old is your da’, then?” she questioned. “And thank you, by the way. I feel _so_ much warmer already.”

Tilda grinned and nodded. “I’m glad! You looked really cold, huddled up next to the fire in that torn up dress.” She tucked a golden curl behind her ear before digging around in the chest again. “And my da’s just turned forty-two this year.”

“He’s not much younger than my da’.” Her head tilted as Tilda straightened up once more; this time, she was holding a small belt.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to her. “To keep everything gathered around your waist, since your sword belt is a bit too loose for that. How much older is your da’, then?”

Doing as instructed with the belt, she fastened it around her waist. She was pleased to find that it made the dress and underdress look like they fit her _much_ better. “He’ll be fifty-one on September fifteenth.”

“Oh! That’s in just a couple of days!”

Her eyes widened. “R-really? It’s already halfway through September already?” It felt like just a day or two ago, Bilbo had told her that it was early September… “Yavanna’s grace, the time certainly has passed quite quickly…” Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. “What should I do with this, by the way?” she asked, holding up her wadded-up dress.

“Hmm…” Tilda tilted her head as she looked at the wadded-up fabric. “Probably just throw it away. It doesn’t look to be in good enough condition to use as scrap material and it’s far too ripped up for you to keep wearing it. And it’s got all those black stains…Did you roll around in soot?”

Feeling that it would be better to _not_ tell the young girl that the stains were, in fact, from orc blood, Baylee shrugged slightly. “It’s more than likely mud,” she said instead, following the girl out of the room and towards the stairs. “I’ve done my fair share of slipping and falling into mud over the course of this trip.”

Upon reaching the stairs, she put one hand on the wall before taking the steps a bit slowly; not only were the they steep, but these new clothes hid the steps from her sight. The lack of handrail didn’t help either and, as she descended the stairs, she bit her lower lip and hoped that her foot would come into contact with the proper step.

Thankfully, she reached the bottom without issue. Breathing a sigh of relief, she let Tilda take the crumpled dress from her before going over to stand beside her father. He gave her a small smile when he saw that she was in warmer clothes.

“I’m surprised she was able to find you something to wear,” he said. Baylee was glad to both hear and see that he was no longer shivering. “I wouldn’t think humans would have something hobbit sized in their wardrobe.”

“They keep clothes from when they were younger in case they find a way to repurpose them.” She glanced across the room, spotting Thorin standing near a window. A small sigh left her mouth and she turned back towards her father. “Have the dwarves been polite so far?” she then asked, her voice quieter.

“They have, yes. A bit grumbly, but still polite. I think once they warm up and get a bit of food in their bellies, they’ll be less grumbly.”

Her brow rose as she quietly chuckled. “They’re dwarves, da’. They’re _always_ grumbly, whether it’s in attitude or in their stomachs.”

Bilbo snorted loudly, drawing the attention of Nori, Gloin, and Bifur who were closest to them. He gave them a quick apology, an attempt at an innocent smile on his lips; it was evidently good enough that the three dwarves turned back around. “You nearly got us in trouble there, dear,” he murmured, his brow rising as he looked down at Baylee.

A small pout came to her lips and she lightly nudged him. “Me? You were the one who snorted loudly.”

“Because of something _you_ said, dear.” Mischief was slowly coming to his face and his voice. “So, it is, indeed, your fault.”

She stuck her tongue out at him before turning her attention to the cauldron over the fire. It was just barely steaming and the scent of warm wine, anise, and cinnamon started to fill her nose. Pushing her skirts and petticoats back, she leaned over the hearth and took in a deep breath of the steam. “Oh, that smells like wintertime back home,” she murmured.

While the mulled wine smelled good, she couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. Cinnamon and anise could be quite expensive even to those who were well off and, given that Bard and his family seemed to _not_ be well off, she wondered if there wasn’t some better way that they could have put the spices to use.

‘Perhaps when this is all over, I’ll send them a gift for their hospitality,’ she thought, ‘A very nice gift that is worth all the trouble they’re going through to help us.’

Her brows furrowed somewhat as she heard a hiss of pain. Turning, she could see Kili sitting on a chair across the room, his knuckles white as he gripped his knee. Oin was kneeling beside him, looking over the hastily-tended to arrow wound in his thigh, while Fili stood behind Oin, observing the damage. Biting her lip, she went over to see if she could be of any use or if she could provide any moral support.

“It’s wedged in there fairly well, lad,” Oin was telling the younger prince as she approached. “An’ the way it broke off makes it hard for me t’ get a good grip on it without makin’ the hole bigger.”

Kili had his eyes screwed shut in pain. “Don’t we have a pair o’ tongs or something we could use?” he grunted out. “We have to have _something_ that can help get it out!”

“Tongs are even bigger than Oin’s fingers,” Fili told him, voice dry. Seeing movement in the corner of his eye, he looked over in time to see Baylee walking up to them.

“How’s his leg?” she asked, concern on her face.

Fili shook his head. “Oin can’t get the arrow out. His fingers are too big.”

Her eyes widened in a mixture of shock and horror. “Th-the arrow is still _in_ his leg?” she squeaked. Rising up onto her tiptoes slightly, she peeked over Oin’s shoulder only to wince. Kili’s wound was a dark, bleeding mess—it was the first _bad_ wound she had seen on their journey thus far. She was thankful her stomach was empty, otherwise the nausea she felt would have been far worse.

“That…doesn’t look good,” she mumbled, her face growing a bit pale.

Despite the dreary situation, Oin seemed to perk slightly. “You’ve got tiny hands, lass!” he chirped. Baylee _immediately_ knew what he was going to say next and dreaded it. “See if you can’t reach in there an’ get the arrow out for us,” he continued.

“O-Oh, n-no, I don’t think that’d be a very good idea, Oin,” she stammered, her skin paling more now. “I-I might just make things worse.” But her words came too late. Oin had already gotten to his feet and had gently nudged her forward.

“It’ll be simple,” he told her. “Just reach in, grab it, an’ pull it straight out—Like bonin’ a fish fillet!”

Kili managed to open an eye and he looked at the hobbit lass only to find her quite pale. “We-we can get someone else, Baylee,” he said through clenched teeth.

She swallowed hard; his voice was strained thanks to the amount of pain he was in. “I-I’ll try,” she heard herself say. “It’s the least I could do…” Walking closer to Kili, she pushed the sleeve of the dress up a bit more before leaning over slightly. Her nose scrunched up when she reached forward, but she paused when her hand was halfway to his thigh. “I-I’m about to reach in, so brace yourself,” she warned.

Kili stiffly nodded.

Gathering up her courage, Baylee did her best to be careful as she started to feel around inside the wound for the broken bit of arrow. She closed her eyes and told herself to think of it as if she were trying to push some cloves of garlic into a roast, but it was of little use. It was when she started to breathe through her nose to keep herself from gagging that her fingertips brushed against pointed bits of wood.

“Found it,” she mumbled. She pushed her fingers in a bit further, hearing Kili hiss and curse in pain. It was hard to get a good hold on the arrow thanks to the blood soaking both it and her fingers, but, when she dug her nails into the wood, she found that she was able to finally grip it. “Alright, I have got it…Do I pull it out slowly? Or quickly?” She wasn’t even certain if she’d be able to pull it out at all, given how deeply it was embedded.

“Try an’ pull it out in one swift tug,” Fili instructed. “It’ll cause the least amount of pain.”

“You’re jokin’, right? It’ll still hurt like he—” Kili was silenced as his brother abruptly forced a belt into his mouth; the leather had been doubled over to provide extra cushion for his teeth when he bit down.

Baylee glanced up at Kili’s face. “On the count of three, then,” she told him. “One—Two—” Without waiting for ‘three’, she yanked as hard and as fast as she could on the bit of arrow. She toppled backwards onto her bum and Kili let out a howl of pain that, thankfully, was muted by the belt.

“Aha! The wee lassie got it!” Oin declared, a grin spreading across his face. “I knew you could do it, lassie!” He would have given her a hearty thump on the back if she had been standing, but he instead hurried over to Kili to tend to the bleeding, but now empty, wound.

Baylee stared at the arrow and her hand in a mixture of horror and confusion; while both were covered in fresh, bright red blood, there were also streaks of a thick, black substance. “U-Um, Oin…? Wh-what is this black stuff?” she squeaked, keeping her arm held out at a distance.

Oin, though, couldn’t hear her; and even if he could, he was too distracted with flushing the wound out so he could sew it up.

Fili came over and helped her onto her feet. “It looks like globs of coagulated blood if you ask me,” he told her, a bit of disgust on his face. “Sometimes, if a wound like that isn’t treated right away, the blood can—” He blinked, falling quiet as Baylee reached up and put a clean finger against his lips, silencing him.

“While I appreciate your wound knowledge,” she told him, her face having gone quite pale now, “my disposition is not quite iron enough to handle both the gory sight of my hand _and_ hear about how there are blood clots on it as well.”

“Sorry,” he said with a small chuckle. “I forget that you’re not really used t’ this sort o’ situation.” He looked around, trying to see if he could find one of the humans so that Baylee could get her hand cleaned off. “To be honest, I’m not entirely used to _this_ specific situation, but I am used to gore more than you…”

Before he could spot any of the humans, Bard came from around a corner. “You look ready to faint, little mistress,” he told Baylee, setting a rag over her hand. With a barrier between their hands, he took the arrow from her before gently wiping away whatever blood remained on her skin.

“Th-thank you,” she said, managing to muster up a thankful smile. “For a few minutes, I thought I was about to faint…Thank Yavanna I didn’t, though. Otherwise that arrow would still be in Kili’s leg.” She watched as Bard used the cloth to clean off the broken arrow, his brow rising slightly.

“This is an orcish arrow,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

She nodded. “They got him when we were fleeing downriver,” she explained. “I’m just glad it didn’t stick into his bone or anything…I don’t think I would have been able to get it out then.” Rubbing the side of her neck, she then glanced around. “…Is there anything you and your children need help with, by the way? I know there probably isn’t much I could do, given my size, but if it would help lessen the burden of having us all here…”

Bard glanced around; for the most part, the dwarves all seemed to be content and quiet as they stayed in their spots, warming up. Sigrid and Tilda were off to one side, quietly talking with each other while Bain was stirring the mulling wine, which was just steaming a bit more now. “For now, no. Please rest, little mistress. Perhaps when it’s closer to supper, we could use your assistance, though.” He gave her a tired smile. “I’ve heard that hobbits know how to stretch food out so that even the most meager rations can feed a crowd.”

“Oh, yes, we can,” she chuckled. “So many of us have large families, it’s a skill that we’re practically born with.”

“That’s good to hear, because I’m afraid we may be in need of such a skill tonight,” he admitted.

She nodded in understanding. “I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with something,” she assured him. “If I’m allowed to help, that is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will be,” he chuckled, glad to see that the color was returning to her face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are a few things downstairs I need to attend to.”

As Bard walked off, Baylee headed over to the window where Thorin was standing. When she approached, he glanced down at her and a small smile came to his lips.

“I was wondering when you would come over, Mouse-Lass,” he said. Reaching over, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and brought her close to him. “How is Kili doing? I saw you helping with his leg. I would have gone over myself, but I’m afraid I would have just gotten in the way, especially when he started cursing.”

Her nose scrunched up slightly. “He should be doing better now that the arrow is out.” Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against him. “I’m surprised he was able to walk and swim with it having been in his leg for so long. I guess it just helps to prove how hardy dwarves are, though.” She smiled when she felt Thorin gently rub her shoulder.

“And it has also proven how hardy you’ve become as well,” he gently teased. “I saw what Oin had you do. I don’t think you would have been able to stomach that sort of thing at the beginning of our journey.”

She quietly laughed. “I hardly stomached it just now. That…is the first truly gory wound I’ve seen. My eye was bad, yes, but I only saw it once and even then, it wasn’t close up, nor was I poking my fingers into it.” A shudder ran through her body at the thought of how she had dug around in Kili’s thigh. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t make for a very good healer.”

“For simple cuts and bruises, you would make for a fantastic healer. But, yes, we’ll be leaving more serious injuries to Oin.” A soft sigh left his mouth and he looked out of the window once more. Poking out above the rooves of the city, the top half of the Lonely Mountain could be seen against the blue-grey sky. “We’re so close…”

She opened her eyes and looked out of the window. The sight of the mountain was both awe-inspiring and fear-inducing. That mountain had featured prominently in so many of her nightmares over the last few months that her insides started to feel jittery with anxiousness. Even more so due to it being _identical_ to the mountain in her nightmares.

She quickly closed her eyes again, turning her head and nuzzling into Thorin. “We’ll be there before you know it,” she told him, her voice a bit muffled.

“And with luck, that vile dragon will be nothing more than a pile of bones.” Tearing his gaze away from Erebor, he looked down at his future queen. “Are you warm enough, by the way? We could go stand beside the fire if you’d like.”

A smile came to her lips. “I’m fine,” she answered. “The clothes Tilda gave me are quite comfortable and warm.”

“Tilda?”

“The youngest girl.”

“Ah, yes, her—I saw her leading you away upstairs. I’m surprised she was able to find something that would fit you.”

“The people here keep clothes they grow out of just in case they can pass them along to someone else or repurpose them.”

He nodded in understanding, shifting his weight to his other leg. “Well, regardless, I’m thankful they were able to find something for you. Your dress wasn’t exactly in the best of conditions.”

She quietly laughed, her brow rising as she glanced up at him. “That’s putting it mildly, Oakenshield. It was so stained and worn, it was ready to fall apart if someone so much as _looked_ at it wrong. It wouldn’t have even made for good rags.” She watched as the slightest hint of a mischievous smile came to his lips.

“Well, if I had known _that_ , I would have given it a wrong look ages ago,” he quietly teased. His smile broadened when he saw her cheeks grow dark red and he let out a small laugh as she lightly smacked his chest.

“Makes me wonder if I wasn’t the only one who hit my head in those barrels,” she chuckled, her brow raised as she shook her head.


End file.
